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jCollege  Readip^  Room^  4t  JH^' 


THE   NOVELS  OF 
IVAN    TURGENEV 


THE    NOVELS    OF 

IVAN    TURGENEV 


I.  RUDIN. 

II.  A  HOUSE  OF  GENTLEFOLK. 

III.  ON  THE  EVE. 

IV.  PWTHERS  AND  CHILDREN. 
V.  SMOKE. 

VI.  &  VII.  VIRGIN  SOIL.      2  vols. 

VIII.  &  IX.  A  SPORTSMAN'S  SKETCHES.    2V0ls. 

X.  DREAM  TALES  AND  PROSE  POEMS. 

XL  THE  TORRENTS  OF  SPRING,  ETC. 

XII.  A  LEAR  OF  THE  STEPPES. 

XIII.  THE    DIARY    OF    A    SUPERFLUOUS 

MAN,  ETC. 

XIV.  A  DESPERATE  CHARACTER,  ETC. 
XV.  THE  JEW,  ETC. 


NEW  YORK:  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

LONDON:    WILLIAM   HEINEMANN 


^-'^^s^^^^^/i^^.i 


THE  NOVELS  OF  IVAN  TURGENEV 


ILLUSTRATED     EDITION 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

TRANSLATED  FROM   THE  RUSSIAN 

By 

CONSTANCE  GARNETT 


VOLUME    II 


NEW  YORK:  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 
LONDON:    WILLIAM   HEINEMANN 


Ш"^"^^:. 


>v 


-n  [       OF    r-iE 
%\     LIBRARY 


&ЭГЛЗ 


Printed  in  England 


All  rights  reserz'ed 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

RACHEL  IN  RACINE'S  '  BAJAZET,'   .  Frontispiece 

N.  V.  GOGOL, to  face  page  134 

COMTE  DE  CHAMBORD,      . 


XXI 

The  sky  was  overcast  with  low  clouds,  and 
although  it  was  not  perfectly  dark,  and  in 
front  the  cart-ruts  could  be  distinguished  stand- 
ing out  on  the  road,  to  right  and  left,  every- 
thing was  in  shadow,  and  the  outlines  of 
separate  objects  fell  together  into  big  con- 
fused patches  of  darkness.  It  was  a  dim, 
treacherous  night ;  the  wind  blew  in  gusty, 
damp  squalls,  bringing  with  it  the  scent  of 
rain  and  of  broad  fields  of  wheat.  When 
they  had  passed  the  oak  bushes  which  served 
as  a  landmark,  and  had  to  turn  off  into  the 
by-road,  driving  was  still  more  difficult;  the 
narrow  track  was  quite  lost  at  times.  ,  ,  .  The 
coachman  drove  more  slowly. 

*  I  hope  we  're  not  going  to  lose  our  way,' 
observed  Nezhdanov,  who  had  been  silent  till 
then. 

*  No ;  we  shan't  lose  our  way ! '  answered 
Markelov.  *Two  misfortunes  don't  come  in 
one  day.* 

VOL.  II.  I  A 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

*  Why,  what  was  the  first  misfortune  ? ' 
'What?    why,   we've    wasted    our    day    for 

nothing — don't  you  reckon  that  as  anything  ? ' 
*Yes  .  .  .  of  course.  .  .  .  That  awful  Golush- 

kin !     We   oughtn't   to   have   drunk   so   much 

wine.     My  head  aches  now  .  .  .  fearfully.' 
*I  wasn't  speaking  of  Golushkin;  he  at  any 

rate  gave  us  some  money,  so  that  was  at  least 

something  gained  by  our  visit !  * 

*  Surely  you  don't  regret  Paklin's  having 
taken  us  to  his  .  .  .  what  was  it  he  called 
them — poll-parrots  ?  * 

'There's  nothing  to  regret  in  it  .  .  .  and 
there 's  nothing  to  rejoice  at  either.  I  'm  not 
one  of  those  who  take  interest  in  such  trifles 
...  I  was  not  referring  to  that  misfortune.* 

'What,  then?* 

Markelov  make  no  reply,  he  simply  turned 
a  little  in  his  corner,  as  though  he  were 
wrapping  himself  up.  Nezhdanov  could  not 
quite  make  out  his  face ;  only  his  moustaches 
stood  out  in  a  black  transverse  line ;  but  ever 
since  the  morning  he  had  been  conscious  of 
something  in  Markelov  it  was  better  not  to 
touch  upon — some  obscure,  secret  irritation. 

'  Tell  me,  Sergei  Mihalovitch,'  he  began 
after  a  long  pause,  'are  you  in  earnest  in 
admiring  Mr.  Kislyakov's  letters,  that  you 
gave  me  to  read  this  morning?     You  know — 

2 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

excuse  the  crudity  of  the  expression — it's  all 
perfect  rubbish ! ' 

Markelov  drew  himself  up. 

*  In  the  first  place/  he  began  in  a  wrathful 
voice,  *  I  don't  at  all  share  your  opinion  about 
those  letters.  I  think  them  very  remarkable  .  .  . 
and  conscientious !  And  secondly,  Kislyakov 
toils  and  slaves,  and,  what 's  more,  he  believes ; 
he  believes  in  our  cause,  he  believes  in  revolu- 
tion !  I  must  tell  you  one  thing,  Alexey  Dmi- 
trievitch,  I  notice  that  you — you  are  very  luke- 
warm in  our  cause  ;  you  don't  believe  in  it ! ' 

'What  makes  you  think  that?'  Nezhdanov 
articulated  slowly. 

*What?  Why,  every  word  you  say,  your 
whole  behaviour !  To-day  at  Golushkin's,  who 
was  it  said  he  didn't  see  what  elements  we 
could  depend  on  ?  You  !  Who  asked  us  to  point 
to  any  ?  You  !  And  when  that  friend  of  yours, 
that  grinning  ape  and  buffoon,  Mr.  Paklin,  began 
declaring,  with  eyes  upturned  to  heaven,  that 
not  one  of  us  was  capable  of  sacrifice,  who  was 
it  backed  him  up,  who  was  it  nodded  his  head 
in  approval  ?  Wasn't  that  you  ?  Say  what  you 
please  of  yourself,  and  think  of  yourself  what 
you  know  .  .  .  that 's  your  affair  .  .  .  but  I  know 
of  people  who  are  capable  of  renouncing  every- 
thing that  makes  life  sweet,  even  the  bliss  of 
love,  to  be  true  to  their  convictions,  not  to  betray 
3 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

them  !     Oh,  to-day,  you  are  not  capable  of  that, 
of  course ! ' 

*  To-day  ?     And  why  to-day  ?  * 

'Come,  no  humbug,  for  God's  sake,  you 
happy  Don  Juan,  you  myrtle-crowned  lover!' 
shouted  Markelov,  totally  oblivious  of  the  coach- 
man, who,  though  he  did  not  turn  round  on  the 
box,  could  hear  everything  perfectly  distinctly. 
It  is  true  the  coachman  v/as  at  that  instant 
far  more  interested  in  the  road  than  in  any 
wrangling  on  the  part  of  the  gentlemen  sitting 
behind  him,  and  he  cautiously  and  rather  timor- 
ously urged  on  the  centre  horse,  who  shook 
his  head  and  backed,  letting  the  coach  slide 
down  a  sort  of  rocky  prominence,  which  cer- 
tainly ought  not  to  have  been  there  at  all. 

'Excuse  me,  I  don't  quite  understand  you,* 
said  Nezhdanov. 

Markelov  gave  a  forced,  vindictive  chuckle. 

*  You  don't  understand  me !  Ha  !  ha  !  ha ! 
I  know  all  about  it,  my  fine  gentleman  !  I  know 
whom  you  had  a  love-scene  with  yesterday ;  I 
know  who  it  is  you  've  fascinated  with  your 
good  looks  and  your  fine  talk  ;  I  know  who  lets 
you  into  her  room  .  .  ,  after  ten  o'clock  at 
night ! ' 

'  Master  ! '  the  coachman  suddenly  addressed 
Markelov,   '  take  the   reins  ...  I  '11  get  down 
and  have  a  look.  ...  I  think  we  Ve  got  off  the 
4 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

road.  .  .  .  There  seems  a  sort  of  ravine  here,  or 
something.  .  .  .' 

The  coach  was,  in  fact,  all  on  one  side. 
Markelov  clutched  the  reins  handed  him  by  the 
coachman,  and  went  on  as  loudly  as  ever :  *  I 
don't  blame  you,  Alexey  Dmitritch  !  You  pro- 
fited ...  of  course.  You  were  right.  I  only 
say  that  I  don't  wonder  at  your  lukewarmness 
over  our  cause ;  you  'd  something  else,  I  say 
again,  in  your  heart.  And  I  say,  too,  for  my 
own  part,  what  man  can  guess  beforehand  what 
will  take  girls'  hearts,  or  understand  what  it  is 
they  want !  .  .  .' 

Ч  understand  you  now,'  Nezhdanov  began, 
*  I  understand  your  mortification,  guess  who  has 
spied  on  us  and  lost  no  time  in  telling  you.  . . .' 

*  It 's  not  merit  in  this  case,'  Markelov  went 
on,  affecting  not  to  hear  Nezhdanov,  and  inten- 
tionally dwelling  on  and  prolonging  each  word, 
*not  any  extraordinary  qualities  of  mind  or 
body.  ...  No  !  It 's  simply  .  . .  the  cursed  luck 
of  all  illegitimate  children,  .  ,  .  of  all  .  .  . 
bastards  ! ' 

The  last  phrase  Markelov  uttered  abruptly 
and  rapidly,  and  at  once  was  still  as  death. 

Nezhdanov  felt  himself  grow  pale  all  over  in 
the  darkness,  and  spasms  passed  over  his  face. 
He  could  scarcely  restrain  himself  from  flying 
at  Markelov,  seizing  him  by   the   throat  .  . 
5 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

•  This  insult  must  be  washed  out  in  blood,  in 
blood ' 

*  I  Ve  found  the  road  ! '  cried  the  coachman, 
making  his  appearance  at  the  right  front  wheel. 

*  I  made  a  little  mistake,  kept  too  much  to  the 
left  ...  it 's  no  matter  now !  We  '11  be  there 
in  no  time ;  there 's  not  a  mile  before  us.  Be 
pleased  to  sit  still ! ' 

He  clambered  on  to  the  box,  took  the  reins 
from  Markelov,  turned  the  shaft  horse's  head. 
.  .  .  The  coach,  after  two  violent  jolts,  rolled 
along  more  easily  and  evenly,  the  darkness 
seemed  to  part  and  to  lift,  there  was  a  smell  of 
smoke,  in  front  rose  a  sort  of  hillock.  Then 
a  light  twinkled  .  .  .  and  vanished.  .  .  .  An- 
other glimmered.  ...  A  dog  barked.  .  .  . 

*  Our  huts,'  said  the  coachman ;  *  ah,  get  along, 
my  pretty  pussies  ! ' 

The  lights  came  more  and  more  often  to 
meet  them. 

*  After  that  insult,'  Nezhdanov  began  at  last, 
'you  will  readily  understand,  Sergei  Mihalo- 
vitch,  that  I  cannot  spend  a  night  under  your 
roof;  I  am  therefore,  unpleasant  as  it  is  to  me, 
forced  to  ask  you  to  lend  me  your  coach,  when 
you  reach  home,  so  that  I  may  return  to  the 
town ;  to-morrow  I  will  find  means  of  getting 
home  ;  and  then  you  shall  receive  from  me  the 
communication  you  doubtless  expect.* 

6 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

Markelov  did  not  at  once  reply. 

*  Nezhdanov/  he  said  all  at  once  in  a  low,  but 
despairing  voice,  *  Nezhdanov !  For  God's  sake 
come  into  my  house,  if  only  to  let  me  beg  on 
my  knees  for  your  forgiveness !  Nezhdanov ! 
Forget  .  .  .  Alexey !  forget,  forget  my  senseless 
words !  Oh,  if  any  one  could  feel  how  miser- 
able I  am  ! '  Markelov  struck  himself  on  the 
breast  with  his  fist,  and  it  seemed  to  give  forth 
a  hollow  groan.  '  Alexey  !  be  magnanimous  ! 
Give  me  your  hand  !  .  .  .  Don't  refuse  to  forgive 
me!' 

Nezhdanov  held  out  his  hand — irresolutely — 
still  he  held  it  out.  Markelov  squeezed  it  so 
that  he  almost  cried  out. 

The  coachman  stopped  at  the  steps  of  Marke- 
lov's  house. 

*  Listen,  Alexey,'  Markelov  was  saying  to  him 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  after  in  his  room,  ...  *  dear 
brother,' he  kept  addressing  him  by  this  familiar, 
endearing  term  ;  and  in  this  affectionate  famili- 
arity to  the  man  in  whom  he  had  discovered  a 
successful  rival,  to  whom  he  had  only  just  offered 
d  deadly  insult,  whom  he  had  been  ready  to  kill, 
to  tear  to  pieces,  there  was  the  expression  of 
irrevocable  renunciation,  and  humble,  bitter 
supplication,  and  a  sort  of  claim  too.  .  .  .  Nezh- 
danov recognised  this  claim  by  beginning  to 
address  Markelov  in  the  same  familiar  way. 

7 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

*  Listen,  Alexey !  I  said  just  now  I  had  re- 
fused the  happiness  of  love,  renounced  it  so  as 
to  be  wholly  at  the  service  of  my  convictions.  .  . . 
That  was  nonsense,  bragging !  I  have  never 
been  offered  anything  of  that  sort,  I  have  had 
nothing  to  renounce !  I  was  born  without  gifts, 
and  so  I  have  remained.  .  .  .  And  perhaps  it 
was  right  it  should  be  so.  Since  I  can't  attain 
to  that,  I  have  to  do  something  else !  Since  you 
can  combine  both  .  .  .  can  love  and  be  loved  .  . . 
and  at  the  same  time  serve  the  cause  .  .  .  well, 
you  're  a  fine  fellow  !  I  envy  you  .  .  .  but  it 's 
not  so  with  me.  I  can't.  You  are  happy! 
You  are  happy  !     I  can't.' 

Markelov  said  all  this  in  a  subdued 
voice,  sitting  on  a  low  chair,  his  head  bent 
and  his  arms  hanging  loose  at  his  sides. 
Nezhdanov  stood  before  him,  plunged  in  a 
sort  of  dreamy  attention,  and  though  Markelov 
called  him  happy,  he  neither  looked  nor  felt 
happy. 

'I  was  deceived  in  my  youth,'  .  .  .  Mar- 
kelov went  on ;  *  she  was  an  exquisite  girl, 
and  yet  she  jilted  me  .  .  .  and  for  whom? 
For  a  German !  for  an  adjutant !  while  Mari- 
anna ' 

He  stopped.  .  .  .  For  the  first  time  he  had 
uttered  her  name,  and  it  seemed  to  burn  his 

lips. 

8 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

*  Marianna  did  not  deceive  me  ;  she  told  me 
plainly  that  she  didn't  care  for  me.  .  .  .  And 
how  should  she  care  for  me?  Well,  she  has 
given  herself  to  you  .  .  .  Well,  what  of  that? 
was  she  not  free  ? ' 

*  Oh,  stay,  stay ! '  cried  Nezhdanov,  '  what  is 
it  you  are  saying?  Given  herself?  I  don't 
know  what  your  sister  has  written  to  you ;  but 
I  swear  to  you ' 

*  I  don't  say  physically ;  but  morally  she  has 
given  herself,  in  heart,  in  soul,'  interposed 
Markelov,  who  was  obviously  comforted  for  some 
reason  or  other  by  Nezhdanov's  exclamation. 
*  And  she  has  done  well.  As  for  my  sister  . . . 
Of  course  she  had  no  intention  of  wounding. 
...  At  least,  she  didn't  care  about  it  one  way 
or  another ;  but  she  must  hate  you,  and  Mari- 
anna too.  She  was  not  lying  .  .  .  but  there, 
enough  of  her ! ' 

*Yes,'  thought  Nezhdanov  to  himself:  'she 
hates  us.' 

'Everything  is  for  the  best,'  Markelov  con- 
tinued without  changing  his  position.  '  Now 
the  last  ways  of  retreat  are  cut  off  for  me,  now 
there  is  nothing  to  hinder  me!  Never  mind 
Golushkin's  being  a  blockhead ;  that's  of  no 
consequence.  And  Kislyakov's  letters  .  .  . 
they  're  absurd,  perhaps  .  .  .  but  we  must  look 
to  the  principal  thing.  According  to  him, 
9 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

everything's  ready  everywhere.  You  don't 
believe  that,  perhaps  ? ' 

Nezhdanov  made  no  answer. 

'  You  are  right,  perhaps ;  but  you  know  if 
we  wait  for  the  moment  when  everything, 
absolutely  everything,  is  ready,  we  shall  never 
begin.  If  one  weighs  all  the  consequences 
beforehand,  it 's  certain  there  will  be  some  evil 
ones.  For  instance :  when  our  predecessors 
organised  the  emancipation  of  the  peasants, 
could  they  foresee  that  one  result  of  this  eman- 
cipation would  be  the  rise  of  a  whole  class  of 
money-lending  landowners,  who  would  lend  the 
peasant  a  quarter  of  mouldy  rye  for  six  roubles, 
and  extort  from  him '  (here  Markelov  crooked 
one  finger)  *  first  the  full  six  roubles  in  labour, 
and  besides  that '  (Markelov  crooked  another 
linger)  *  a  whole  quarter  of  good  rye,  and  then ' 
(Markelov  crooked  a  third)  *  interest  on  the  top 
of  that  ? — in  fact,  they  squeeze  the  peasant  to 
the  last  drop!  Our  emancipators  couldn't 
have  foreseen  that,  you  must  admit !  And  yet, 
even  if  they  had  foreseen  it,  they  'd  have  done 
right  to  free  the  peasants,  and  not  to  weigh  all 
the  consequences !  And  so,  I  have  made  up 
my  mind  ! ' 

Nezhdanov  looked  questioningly,  in  perplex- 
ity, at  Markelov  ;  but  the  latter  looked  away 
into  the  corner.     His  brows  were  contracted 

lO 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

and  hid  his  eyes  ;  he  bit  his  lips  and  gnawed 
his  moustache, 

'  Yes,  I  have  made  up  my  mind  ! '  he  repeated 
with  a  swing  of  his  arm  down  on  his  knee. 
*  I  'm  an  obstinate  man,  you  know  ...  I  'm 
not  half  a  Little-Russian  for  nothing.' 

Then  he  got  up,  and,  staggering  as  though 
his  legs  were  failing  him,  he  went  into  his 
bedroom,  and  brought  out  from  there  a 
small  portrait  of  Marianna  framed  under 
glass. 

*  Take  it,'  he  said  in  a  mournful  but  steady 
voice ;  *  I  did  it  once.  I  draw  very  badly ; 
but  look,  I  think  it's  like.'  (The  sketch,  a 
pencil  drawing  taken  in  profile,  was  really 
like.)  *  Take  it,  brother ;  it 's  my  last  bequest. 
Together  with  this  portrait  I  give  up  to  you 
all  my  right  ...  I  never  had  any  .  .  .  but 
you  know,  Alexey,  everything !  I  give  you 
everything,  Alexey  .  .  .  and  her,  dear  brother ; 
she 's  a  good  .  .  .' 

Markelov  was  silent ;  the  heaving  of  his  breast 
was  visible. 

*  Take  it.  You  're  not  angry  with  me,  Alexey  ? 
Then  take  it.  I  have  nothing  now  ...  I  don't 
want  that.'  Nezhdanov  took  the  portrait ;  but  a 
strange  sensation  oppressed  his  heart.  It  seemed 
to  him  that  he  had  no  right  to  accept  this  gift ; 
that  if  Markelov  had  known  what  was  in  his, 

II 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

Nezhdanov's,  heart,  he  would  not,  perhaps,  have 
given  him  the  portrait.  He  held  in  his  hand 
the  little  round  piece  of  paper  carefully  set  in 
its  black  frame  with  a  mount  of  gold  paper,  and 
he  did  not  know  what  to  do  with  it.  *  Here  is 
a  man's  whole  life  in  my  hand,'  was  the  thought 
that  occurred  to  him.  He  realised  what  a 
sacrifice  Markelov  was  making,  but  why,  why 
was  it  to  him  ?  Should  he  give  back  the  por- 
trait? No!  That  would  be  a  still  crueller 
affront.  .  .  .  And  after  all,  wasn't  that  face 
dear  to  him  ?  didn't  he  love  her  ? 

Nezhdanov  with  some  inward  misgiving 
turned  his  eyes  upon  Markelov  .  .  .  wasn't  he 
looking  at  him,  trying  to  read  his  thoughts? 
But  Markelov  was  again  staring  into  the  corner 
and  gnawing  his  moustache. 

The  old  servant  came  into  the  room  with  a 
candle  in  his  hand. 

Markelov  started. 

'It's  time  for  bed,  dear  Alexey!'  he  cried. 
'  Morning  brings  better  counsel.  I  will  give  you 
horses,  you  will  drive  home,  and  good-bye, 
brother.' 

*  And  good-bye  to  you,  too,  old  fellow  1 '  he 
added  suddenly,  turning  to  the  servant  and 
slapping  him  on  the  shoulder.  *  Think  of  me 
kindly ! ' 

The  old  man  was  so  astounded  that  he  all 

12 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

but  dropped  the  candle,  and  his  eyes,  bent  on 
his  master,  expressed  something  other — and 
more — than  his  habitual  dejection. 

Nezhdanov  went  to  his  room.  He  was  miser- 
able. His  head  was  still  aching  from  the  wine 
he  had  drunk,  there  were  noises  in  his  ears,  and 
lights  dazzling  before  his  eyes,  even  though 
he  shut  them.  Golushkin,  the  clerk  Vasya, 
Fomushka,  Fimushka,  kept  revolving  before 
him  ;  in  the  distance,  Marianna's  image  seemed 
distrustful,  would  not  come  near.  Everything 
he  had  said  or  done  himself  struck  him  as  such 
lying  and  affectation,  such  superfluous  and 
humbugging  nonsense  .  .  .  and  the  thing  that 
ought  to  be  done,  the  aim  that  ought  to  be 
striven  for,  was  not  to  be  found  anywhere,  un- 
attainable under  lock  and  bar,  buried  in  the 
bottomless  pit.  .  .  , 

And  he  was  beset  with  the  unceasing  desire 
to  get  up,  go  to  Markelov,  and  say  to  him, 
*  Take  back  your  present,  take  it  back  ! ' 

'  Ugh  !  what  a  loathsome  thing  life  is ! '  he 
cried  at  last. 

The  next  morning  he  went  off  early.  Mar- 
kelov was  already  on  the  steps,  surrounded  by 
peasants.  Whether  he  had  called  them  to- 
gether, or  they  had  come  of  themselves,  Nezh- 
danov could  not  make  out ;  Markelov  said 
good-bye  to  him,  very  briefly  and  drily  ,  .  . 
13 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

but  he  seemed  to  be  about  to  make  some  im- 
portant communication  to  the  peasants.  The 
old  servant  was  hanging  about  the  steps  with 
his  unvarying  expression. 

The  coach  quickly  passed  through  the  town, 
and  moved  at  a  furious  pace  directly  the  open 
country  was  reached.  The  horses  were  the 
same,  but  the  coachman,  either  because  Nezh- 
danov  was  living  in  a  grand  house,  or  for 
some  other  reason,  was  reckoning  on  something 
handsome  'for  vodka'  .  .  .  and  we  all  know 
that  when  a  coachman  has  had  vodka,  or  is 
confidently  expecting  it,  the  horses  trot  their 
best.  It  was  fine  weather,  though  fresh ;  lofty 
clouds  were  gambolling  over  the  sky,  there  was 
a  strong,  steady  breeze ;  the  road,  after  the 
previous  day's  rain,  was  not  dusty  ;  the  willows 
rustled,  gleamed,  and  rippled,  everything  was 
moving,  fluttering ;  the  peewit's  cry  came 
whistling  from  the  distant  slopes,  across  the 
green  ravines,  just  as  though  the  cry  had 
wings  and  was  flying  on  them ;  the  crows 
were  glossing  themselves  in  the  sun ;  some- 
thing like  black  fleas  was  moving  across  the 
straight  line  of  the  bare  horizon — it  was  the 
peasants  ploughing  their  fallow  land  a  second 
time. 

But  Nezhdanov  let  it  all  pass  by  unseen ; 
he  did  not  even  notice  that  he  was  driving  into 
14 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

Sipyagin's  property;  he  was  overcome  by  his 
brooding  thoughts. 

He  started,  though,  when  he  saw  the  roof  of 
the  house,  the  upper  story,  Marianna's  window. 
*  Yes,'  he  said  to  himself,  and  there  was  a  glow 
of  warmth  about  his  heart ;  *  he  was  right,  she  s 
a  good  girl,  and  I  love  her.* 


»$ 


XXII 

He  hurriedly  changed  his  clothes  and  went  to 
give  Kolya  his  lesson.  Sipyagin,  whom  he  met 
in  the  dining-room,  bowed  to  him  with  chilly 
politeness,  and  muttering  through  his  teeth, 
'  Had  a  pleasant  visit  ? '  went  on  to  his  study. 
The  statesman  had  already  decided  in  his 
diplomatic  mind  that  directly  the  vacation  was 
over  he  would  promptly  pack  this  tutor  off  to 
Petersburg,  as  he  was  *  positively  too  red,'  and 
meanwhile  he  would  keep  an  eye  on  him  .  .  , 
*  Je  n*at  pas  eu  la  main  heureuse  cette  fois-ci* 
he  thought  to  himself ;  however,  ^faurais  pu 
tomberpire!  Valentina  Mihalovna's  sentiments 
towards  Nezhdanov  were  far  more  energetic 
and  defined.  She  could  not  endure  him  now. 
.  .  .  He — this  little  scrub  of  a  boy! — had 
affronted  her.  Marianna  had  not  been  mis- 
taken ;  it  was  she,  Valentina  Mihalovna,  who 
had  been  spying  on  her  and  Nezhdanov  in  the 
corridor.  .  .  .  The  distinguished  lady  was  not 
above  such  a  proceeding.  In  the  course  of  the 
i6 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

two  days  his  absence  had  lasted,  though  she  had 
said  nothing  to  her  'thoughtless'  niece,  she  had 
repeatedly  given  her  to  understand  that  she  was 
aware  of  everything  ;  that  she  would  have  been 
indignant,  had  she  not  been  half-contemptuous, 
half-compassionate.  .  .  .  Her  face  was  filled 
with  restrained,  inward  contempt,  her  eyebrows 
were  raised  with  something  of  irony  and,  at  the 
same  time,  of  pity  whenever  she  looked  at  or 
spoke  to  Marianna  ;  her  superb  eyes  rested  with 
tender  perplexity,  with  mournful  disgust,  on  the 
self-willed  girl  who,  after  all  her  'fancies  and 
eccentricities,'  had  come  to  ...  to  ...  to  kiss- 
ing ...  in  dark  rooms  .  .  .  with  a  paltry  little 
undergraduate ! 

Poor  Marianna !  Her  stern,  proud  lips  knew 
nothing  as  yet  of  any  man's  kisses. 

Valentina  Mihalovna  had,  however,  given  her 
husband  no  hint  of  the  discovery  she  had  made  ; 
she  contented  herself  by  accompanying  a  few 
words  addressed  to  Marianna  in  his  presence 
by  a  significant  smile,  in  no  way  relevant  to 
their  apparent  meaning.  Valentina  Mihalovna 
felt  positively  rather  remorseful  for  having 
written  the  letter  to  her  brother  .  .  .  but,  all 
things  considered,  she  preferred  to  repent  and 
have  done  it,  than  be  spared  her  penitence  at 
the  price  of  the  letter  not  having  been  written. 

Of  Marianna,  Nezhdanov  had  a  glimpse  in 

VOL.  II.  17  ^B 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

the  dining-room  at  lunch.  He  thought  her 
looking  thin  and  yellow  ;  she  was  not  at  all 
pretty  that  day  ;  but  the  rapid  glance  she  flung 
at  him  the  instant  he  came  into  the  room  went 
straight  to  his  heart.  On  the  other  hand, 
Valentina  Mihalovna  looked  at  him  as  though 
she  were  continually  repeating  inwardly,  '  I 
congratulate  you  !  Well  done !  Very  smart ! ' 
and  at  the  same  time  she  wanted  to  discover 
from  his  face  whether  Markelov  had  shown  him 
the  letter  or  not.  She  decided  at  last  that  he 
had  shown  it. 

Sipyagin,  hearing  that  Nezhdanov  had  been 
to  the  factory  of  which  Solomin  was  the  manager, 
began  cross-questioning  him  about  *  that  manu- 
facturing enterprise  which  presents  so  many 
striking  points  of  interest ' ;  but  being  shortly 
convinced  from  the  young  man's  answers  that  he 
had  really  seen  nothing  there,  he  relapsed  into 
majestic  silence,  with  the  air  of  reproaching  him- 
self for  having  expected  any  valuable  informa- 
tion from  such  an  undeveloped  person  !  As 
they  left  the  dining-room,  Marianna  managed  to 
whisper  to  Nezhdanov,  *  Wait  for  me  in  the  old 
birch  copse,  Alexey ;  I  will  come  directly  I  can 
get  away.'  Nezhdanov  thought, '  She,  too,  calls 
me  Alexey,  just  as  he  did.'  And  how  sweet  that 
familiarity  was  to  him,  though  rather  terrible 
too !  and  how  strange,  and  how  incredible,  if 
i8 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

she  had  suddenly  begun  addressing  him  as  Mr. 
Nezhdanov  again,  if  she  had  been  more  distant 
to  him  !  He  felt  that  that  would  be  misery  to 
him.  Whether  he  was  in  love  with  her  he  could 
not  be  sure  yet ;  but  that  she  was  precious  to 
him,  and  near,  and  necessary — yes,  above  all, 
necessary, — that  he  felt  to  the  very  depths  of 
his  being. 

The  copse  to  which  Marianna  had  sent  him 
consisted  of  some  hundreds  of  old  birch-trees, 
mostly  of  the  weeping  variety.  The  wind  had 
not  dropped  ;  the  long  bundles  of  twigs  nodded 
and  tossed  like  loosened  tresses  in  the  breeze ; 
the  clouds,  as  before,  flew  fast  and  high  up  in 
the  sky,  and  when  one  of  them  floated  across 
the  sun,  everything  grew — not  dark — but  of 
one  uniform  tint.  Then  it  floated  past,  and 
suddenly  glaring  patches  of  light  were  waving 
everywhere  again,  in  tangled,  medley  riot, 
mingled  with  patches  of  shade  .  .  .  the  rustle 
and  movement  were  the  same ;  but  a  kind  of 
festive  delight  was  added.  With  just  such  joy- 
ous violence,  passion  makes  its  way  into  a  heart 
distraught  and  darkened  by  trouble.  .  .  ,  And 
just  such  was  the  heart  Nezhdanov  carried 
within  his  breast. 

He  leaned  against  the  trunk  of  a  birch-tree, 
and  began  waiting.  He  did  not  really  know 
what  he  was  feeling,  and  indeed  he  did  not  want 
19 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

to  know ;  he  felt  at  once  more  disturbed  and 
more  light  of  heart  than  at  Markelov's.  He 
longed  before  all  things  to  see  her,  to  speak  to 
her;  the  chain  which  so  suddenly  binds  two 
living  creatures  together  had  him  fast  just  then. 
Nezhdanov  bethought  himself  of  the  rope  flung 
to  the  quay  when  the  ship  is  ready  to  be  made 
fast.  .  .  .  Now  it  is  twisted  tight  about  a  post, 
and  the  ship  is  at  rest. 

In  harbour !  God  be  thanked  ! 

Suddenly  he  trembled.  There  was  a  glimpse 
of  a  woman's  dress  on  the  path  in  the  distance. 
It  was  she.  But  whether  she  was  coming 
towards  him,  or  going  away  from  him,  he  could 
not  be  sure,  until  he  saw  that  the  patches  of 
light  and  shadow  glided  from  below  upwards 
over  her  figure  ...  so  she  was  approaching. 
They  would  have  mowed  from  above  downwards 
if  she  had  been  walking  away.  A  few  instants 
more  and  she  was  standing  near  him,  before 
him,  with  a  bright  face  of  greeting,  a  tender 
light  in  her  eyes,  a  faint  but  gay  smile  on  her 
lips.  He  snatched  her  outstretched  hands, 
but  at  first  could  not  utter  a  word ;  she,  too, 
said  nothing.  She  had  walked  very  quickly 
and  was  a  little  out  of  breath ;  but  it  could  be 
seen  she  was  immensely  overjoyed  that  he  was 
overjoyed  to  see  her. 

She  was  the  first  to  speak. 
20 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

*  Well,'  she  began,  *  tell  me  quickly  what 
you  Ve  decided  on  ! ' 

Nezhdanov  was  surprised. 

*  Decided  !  .  . .  why,  were  we  to  have  decided 
on  anything  just  now  ? ' 

'  Oh,  you  know  what  I  mean  !  Tell  me  what 
you  talked  about.  Whom  did  you  see  ?  Have 
you  made  friends  with  Solomin  ?  Tell  me 
everything,  everything !  Stay  a  minute — let 's 
go  over  there,  further.  I  know  a  place  .  .  . 
that 's  not  so  visible.' 

She  drew  him  after  her.  He  followed  her 
obediently  right  through  the  tall,  scanty,  dry 
grass. 

She  led  him  to  the  place  she  meant.  There 
lay  a  great  birch-tree  that  had  fallen  in  a  storm. 
They  sat  down  on  the  trunk. 

*  Come,  tell  me  ! '  she  repeated,  but  she  went 
on  herself  at  once :  '  Ah,  how  glad  I  am  to  see 
you,  dear !  I  thought  these  two  days  would 
never  pass.  You  know,  Alexey,  I  'm  certain 
now  that  Valentina  Mihalovna  overheard  us.* 

'  She  wrote  to  Markelov  about  it,'  said 
Nezhdanov. 

'  To  Markelov  ! ' 

Marianna  did  not  speak  for  a  minute,  and 
gradually  crimsoned  all  over,  not  from  shame, 
but  from  another  stronger  passion. 

*  Wicked,  malicious  woman  I '  she  murmured 

21 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

slowly;  'she  had  no  right  to  do  that.  .  .  , 
WeH,  never  mind  !  Tell  me,  tell  me  everything.' 

Nezhdanov  began  talking.  .  .  .  Marianna 
listened  to  him  with  a  sort  of  stony  attention, 
and  only  interrupted  him  when  she  noticed 
that  he  was  hurrying  things  over,  slurring  over 
incidents.  All  the  details  of  his  visits  were  not 
however  of  equal  interest  to  her ;  she  laughed 
over  Fomushka  and  Fimushka,  but  they  did 
not  interest  her.  Their  life  was  too  remote 
from  her. 

'  It  *s  just  as  if  you  were  telling  me  about 
Nebuchadnezzar,'  was  her  comment. 

But  what  Markelov  said,  what  Golushkin 
even  thought  (though  she  soon  realised  what 
sort  of  a  creature  he  was),  and,  above  all,  what 
were  Solomin's  ideas,  and  what  he  was  like — 
these  were  the  points  she  wanted  to  hear  about, 
and  took  to  heart.  *  When  ?  when  ? ' — that  was 
the  question  that  was  continually  in  her  head 
and  on  her  lips  when  Nezhdanov  was  talking, 
while  he  seemed  to  avoid  everything  which 
could  give  a  positive  answer  to  that  question. 
He  began  to  notice  himself  that  he  laid  stress 
precisely  on  those  incidents  which  were  of 
least  interest  to  Marianna  .  .  .  and  was  con- 
stantly returning  to  them.  Humorous  descrip- 
tions made  her  impatient ;  a  sceptical  or  de- 
jected tone  wounded   her.  .  »  .  He  had   con- 

22 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

stantlyto  come  to  the  'cause,' the  'question.' 
Then  on  that  subject  no  amount  of  talk  weaned 
her.  Nezhdanov  was  reminded  of  a  summer 
he  had  spent  with  some  old  friends  in  the 
country  before  he  was  a  student,  when  he  used 
to  tell  stories  to  the  children,  and  they,  too,  did 
not  appreciate  descriptions  nor  expressions  of 
personal,  individual  sensation  .  .  .  they,  too, 
had  demanded  action,  facts!  Marianna  was 
not  a  child,  but  in  the  directness  and  simplicity 
of  her  feelings  she  was  like  one. 

Nezhdanov  praised  Markelov  with  warmth 
and  sincerity,  and  spoke  with  special  apprecia- 
tion of  Solomin.  Speaking  almost  in  enthusi- 
astic terms  about  him,  he  asked  himself,  what 
precisely  was  it  gave  him  such  a  high  opinion  of 
that  man  ?  He  had  uttered  nothing  specially 
brilliant ;  some  of  his  sayings  seemed  indeed 
directly  opposed  to  his,  Nezhdanov's,  convic- 
tions. ...  *  He's  a  well-balanced  character,' 
was  his  conclusion  ;  '  that 's  it,  businesslike, 
cool,  as  Fimushka  said,  a  solid  fellow ;  calm, 
strong  force;  he  knows  what  he  wants,  and 
has  confidence  in  himself,  and  arouses  confi- 
dence in  others;  there's  no  excitement  .  .  . 
and  balance  !  balance !  .  .  .  That 's  the  great 
thing;  just  what  I  haven't  got.'  Nezhdanov 
was  silent,  absorbed  in  reflection.  .  .  .  Sud- 
denly he  felt  a  caressing  hand  on  his  shoulder. 
23 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

He  raised  his  head  ;  Marianna  was  looking 
at  him  with  anxious,  tender  eyes. 

*  My  dear  !     What  is  it  ? '  she  asked. 

He  took  her  hand  from  his  shoulder,  and  for 
the  first  time  kissed  that  strong  little  hand. 
Marianna  gave  a  slight  smile  as  though  won- 
dering how  such  a  polite  attention  could  occur 
to  him.     Then  she  in  her  turn  grew  thoughtful. 

'  Did  Markelov  show  you  Valentina  Mihal- 
ovna's  letter  ? '  she  asked  at  last 

'Yes.' 

'  Well  .  .  .  how  was  he  ? ' 

*  He  ?  He  's  the  noblest,  most  unselfish 
fellow  '  He  .  .  .'  Nezhdanov  was  on  the  point 
of  telling  Marianna  about  the  portrait — but  he 
checked  himself,  and  only  repeated,  'the  noblest 
fellow.' 

'  Oh,  yes,  yes  ! ' 

Marianna  again  fell  to  musing,  and  suddenly 
turning  round  towards  Nezhdanov  on  the  trunk 
which  served  them  both  for  a  seat,  she  said  with 
vivid  interest : 

'  Well,  then,  what  did  you  decide  ?  * 

Nezhdanov  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

'  Why,  I  've  told  you  .  .  .  nothing  ...  as 
yet ;  we  shall  have  to  wait  a  little  longer.* 

'  Wait  longer  ?  .  .  .  What  for  ?  ' 

*  Final  instructions.'  (*  Of  course  that's  a  fib/ 
Nezhdanov  thought.) 

24 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

*  From  whom  ? ' 

*  From  .  .  .  you  know  .  .  .  Vassily  Nikolae- 
vitch.  And,  oh  yes,  we  must  wait  too  till 
Ostrodumov  comes  back.' 

Marianna  looked  inquiringly  at  Nezhdanov. 

*  Tell  me,  did  you  ever  see  Vassily  Nikolae- 
vitch.' 

'  I  have  seen  him  twice  .  ,  .  just  a  glimpse, 
that  was  all.' 

'  What  is  he  ?  ...  a  remarkable  man  ? ' 

*  How  shall  I  tell  you  ?  He 's  the  head  now, 
and  controls  everything.  We  couldn't  do 
without  discipline  in  our  work  ;  obedience  is 
essential'  (*  And  that 's  all  rot,'  was  his  inward 
comment.) 

'  What 's  he  like  to  look  at  ?  ' 

*  Oh,  stumpy,  heavy,  dark.  .  .  .  High  cheek- 
bones, like  a  Kalmik  ...  a  coarse  face.  Only 
he  has  very  keen,  bright  eyes.' 

'  And  how  does  he  talk  ? ' 

*  He  does  not  talk,  so  much  as  command.' 

*  Why  was  he  made  head  ? ' 

'  Oh,  he  's  a  man  of  character.  He  wouldn't 
stick  at  anything.  If  necessary  he  'd  kill  any 
one.     And  so  he 's  feared.' 

*  And  what 's  Solomin  like  ?  '  inquired  Mari- 
anna, after  a  short  pause. 

'  Solomin 's  not  handsome  either  ;    only   he 
has  a  nice,  simple,  honest  face.     You  see  faces 
25 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

like  that  among  divinity  students — the  good 
ones.' 

Nezhdanov  described  Solomin  in  detail. 
Marianna  gazed  a  long  .  .  .  long  time  at 
Nezhdanov ;  then  she  said  as  though  to  her- 
self: 'You  have  a  good  face  too,  I  think ;  life 
would  be  sweet  with  you,  Alexey.' 

That  saying  touched  Nezhdanov;  he  took  her 
hand  again,  and  was  lifting  it  to  his  lips  .  .  . 

*  Defer  your  civilities,'  said  Marianna  smiling 
— she  always  smiled  when  her  hand  was  kissed  ; 

*  you  don't  know  ;  I  've  a  sin  to  confess  to  you.' 

*  What  have  you  done  } ' 

*  Why,  in  your  absence  I  went  into  your  room, 
and  there  on  your  table  I  saw  a  manuscript 
book  of  verses  .  .  .' — (Nezhdanov  started ; 
he  remembered  that  he  had  forgotten  the 
book  and  left  it  on  the  table  in  his  room) — 

*  and  I  must  confess,  I  couldn't  overcome  my 
curiosity,  and  I  read  it.  They  are  your  verses, 
aren't  they  ? ' 

*  Yes  ;  and  do  you  know,  Marianna,  the  best 
possible  proof  of  how  devoted  I  am  to  you 
and  how  I  trust  you,  is  that  I  'm  hardly  angry 
with  you.' 

*  Hardly?  Then,  however  little,  you  are 
angry  ?  By  the  way,  you  call  me  Marianna — 
that 's  right ;  I  can't  call  you  Nezhdanov,  I  must 
call  you  Alexey.      And  the  poem  beginning  : 

26 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

"  My  dear  one,  when  I  come  to  die,"  is  that 
yours  too  ? ' 

*Yes  .  .  .  yes.  But  please  leave  off.  .  •  . 
Don't  torment  me/ 

Marianna  shook  her  head. 

*  It 's  very  melancholy — that  poem.  ...  I 
hope  you  wrote  it  before  you  knew  me.  But 
it 's  real  poetry  so  far  as  I  can  judge.  It  seems 
to  me  you  might  have  been  an  author,  only  I 
\^now  for  certain  that  you  have  a  better,  higher 
vocation  than  literature.  It  was  all  very  well 
to  be  busy  with  that — before,  when  nothing  else 
was  possible.' 

Nezhdanov  bent  a  rapid  glance  upon  her. 
*You   think   so?      Yes,   I   agree  with  you. 
Better  failure  in  this  than  success  in  the  other.' 
Marianna  rose  impulsively. 

*  Yes,  my  dearest,  you  are  right ! '  she  cried, 
and  her  whole  face  was  radiant,  glowing  with 
the  fire  and  light  of  rapture,  with  the  softening 
of  generous  emotion  :  *  you  are  right,  Alexey  ! 
But  perhaps  we  shall  not  fail  at  once ;  we  shall 
succeed,  you  will  see — we  shall  be  useful,  our 
life  shall  not  be  spent  in  vain,  we  will  go  and  live 
among  the  people.  . .  .  Do  you  know  any  trade  ? 
No?  well,  never  mind,  we  will  work,  we  will 
devote  to  them,  our  brothers,  all  we  know.  I 
will  cook,  and  sew,  and  wash,  if  need  be.  .  .  , 
You  shall  see,  you  shall  see.  .  .  .  And  there  '11 

27 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

be  no  merit  in  it — but  happiness,  happiness. . . ,' 
Marianna  broke  off;  but  her  eyes — fixed  eagerly 
on  the  distant  horizon,  not  that  which  spread 
out  before  her,  but  another  unseen,  unknown 
horizon  perceived  by  her — her  eyes  glowed.  .  .  . 
Nezhdanov  bent  down  before  her. 

*  О  Marianna!'  he  whispered, '  I  'm  not  worthy 
of  you  ! ' 

She  suddenly  shook  herself. 

*  It 's  time  to  go  home,  high  time ! '  she  said, 
'  or  they  '11  be  looking  for  us  again  directly. 
Though  Valentina  Mihalovna,  I  think,  has 
given  me  up.     In  her  eyes  I  'm  ruined  ! ' 

Marianna  uttered  this  word  with  such  a  bright 
and  happy  face,  that  Nezhdanov  could  not 
help  smiling  too  as  he  looked  at  her,  and  re- 
peated, '  Ruined  ! ' 

*  But  she  's  terribly  offended,'  Marianna  went 
on,  *  that  you  're  not  at  her  feet.  But  that 's 
all  of  no  consequence,  there 's  something  I  must 
talk  of.  .  .  .  You  see,  it  will  be  impossible  for 
me  to  stay  here.  ...  I  shall  have  to  run  away.' 

*  Run  away  ?  '  repeated  Nezhdanov. 

'  Yes,  run  away.  .  .  .  You  're  not  going  to 
stay,  are  you  ?  We  will  go  together — we  must 
work  together.  .  .  .  You  '11  come  with  me, 
won't  you  ? ' 

*  To  the  ends  of  the  earth  ! '  cried  Nezhdanov, 
and  there  was  a  sudden  ring  of  emotion  and  a 

28 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

kind  of  impetuous  gratitude  in  his  voice.  *  To 
the  ends  of  the  earth ! '  At  that  instant  he 
would  certainly  have  gone  with  her  wherever 
she  wished,  without  looking  back. 

Marianna  understood  him,  and  gave  a  short 
blissful  sigh. 

*  Then  take  my  hand,  Alexey,  only  don't  kiss 
it ;  and  hold  it  tight,  like  a  comrade,  like  a 
friend — there,  so ! ' 

They  walked  together  to  the  house,  pensive, 
blissful;  the  young  grass  caressed  their  feet, 
the  young  leaves  stirred  about  them  ;  patches 
of  light  and  shade  flittered  swiftly  over  their 
garments ;  and  they  both  smiled  at  the  restless 
frolic  of  the  light,  and  the  merry  bluster  of  the 
wind,  and  the  fresh  glitter  of  the  leaves,  and 
at  their  own  youth  and  one  another. 


29 


PART    II 


PART   TI 
XXIII 

Dawn  was  already  beginning  in  the  sky  on  the 
night  after  Golushkin's  dinner,  when  Solomin, 
after  about  four  miles  of  brisk  walking,  knocked 
at  the  gate  in  the  high  fence  surrounding  the 
factory.  The  watchman  let  him  in  at  once, 
and,  followed  by  three  house-dogs,  vigorously 
wagging  their  shaggy  tails,  he  led  him  with 
respectful  solicitude  to  his  little  lodge.  He  was 
obviously  delighted  at  his  chief's  successful 
return  home. 

'  How  is  it  you  're  here  to-night,  Vassily 
Fedotitch?  we  didn't  expect  you  till  tc-morrow.' 

*  Oh,  it 's  all  right,  Gavrila  ;  it 's  nice  walking 
at  night.'  Excellent,  though  rather  exceptional, 
relations  existed  between  Solomin  and  his  work- 
people ;  they  respected  him  as  a  superior  and 
behaved  with  him  as  an  equal,  as  one  of  them- 
selves ;  only  in  their  eyes  he  was  a  wonderful 
scholar  !     *  What  Vassily  Fedotitch  says,'  they 

VOL.  II.  33  С 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

used  to  repeat,  4s  always  right!  for  there's 
no  sort  of  study  he  hasn't  been  through,  and 
there  isn't  an  Anglisher  he 's  not  a  match  for !  * 
Some  distinguished  English  manufacturer  had 
once,  as  a  fact,  visited  the  factory ;  and  either 
because  Solomin  spoke  English  to  him,  or  that 
he  really  was  impressed  by  his  knowledge  of 
his  business,  he  kept  clapping  him  on  the 
shoulder,  and  laughing,  and  inviting  him  to 
come  to  Liverpool  to  see  him ;  and  he  declared 
to  the  workpeople  in  his  broken  Russian,  *  Oh, 
she 's  very  good  man,  yours  here !  Oh !  very 
good ! '  at  which  the  workpeople  in  their  turn 
laughed  heartily,  but  with  some  pride  ;  feeling, 
*  So  our  man 's  all  that !    One  of  us  ! ' 

And  he  really  was  one  of  them,  and  theirs. 

Early  the  next  morning  Solomin's  favourite, 
Pavel,  came  into  his  room  ;  waked  him,  poured 
him  water  to  wash  with,  told  him  some  piece  of 
news,  and  asked  him  some  question.  Then 
they  had  some  tea  together  hurriedly,  and 
Solomin,  pulling  on  his  greasy,  grey  working 
pea-jacket,  went  into  the  factory,  and  his  life 
began  to  turn  round  again,  like  a  huge  fly- 
wheel. 

But  a  fresh  break  was  in  store  for  it. 

Five  days  after  Solomin's  return  to  his  work, 
a  handsome  little  phaeton,  with  four  splendid 
horses  harnessed  abreast,  drove  into  the  factory 
34 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

yard,  and  a  groom  in  pale  pea-green  livery  was 
conducted  by  Pavel  to  the  lodge,  and  solemnly 
handed  Solomin  a  letter,  sealed  with  an  armorial 
crest,  from  *  His  Excellency  Boris  Andreevitch 
Sipyagin.'  In  this  letter,  which  was  redolent, 
not  of  scent,  oh,  no  !  but  of  a  sort  of  peculiarly 
distinguished  and  disgusting  English  odour, 
and  was  written  in  the  third  person,  not  by  a 
secretary  but  by  his  Excellency  himself,  the 
enlightened  owner  of  the  Arzhano  estate  first 
apologised  for  addressing  a  person  with  whom 
he  was  not  personally  acquainted,  but  of  whom 
he,  Sipyagin,  had  heard  such  flattering  accounts. 
Then  he  *  ventured '  to  invite  Mr.  Solomin  to 
his  country  seat,  as  his  advice  might  be  of  the 
utmost  service  to  him,  Sipyagin,  in  an  industrial 
undertaking  of  some  magnitude ;  and  in  the 
hope  of  Mr.  Solomin's  kindly  consenting  to  do 
so,  he,  Sipyagin,  was  sending  his  carriage  for 
him.  In  case  it  should  be  impossible  for  Mr. 
Solomin  to  get  away  that  day,  he,  Sipyagin, 
most  earnestly  begged  Mr.  Solomin  to  appoint 
him  any  other  day  convenient  to  him,  and  he, 
Sipyagin,  would  gladly  place  the  same  carriage 
at  his,  Mr.  Solomin's,  disposal.  There  followed 
the  usual  civilities,  and  at  the  end  of  the  letter 
was  a  postscript  in  the  first  person,  *  I  hope  you 
will  not  refuse  to  dine  with  me  quite  simply — ■ 
not  evening  dress.'  (The  words  'quite  simply' 
35 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

were  underlined.)  Together  with  this  letter 
the  pea-green  footman,  with  a  certain  show  of 
embarrassment,  gave  Solomin  a  simple  note, 
simply  stuck  up  without  a  seal,  from  Nezhdanov, 
which  contained  only  a  few  words,  'Please  come, 
you  are  greatly  needed  here  and  may  be  of  great 
service  ;  I  need  hardly  say,  not  to  Mr.  Sipyagin/ 

On  reading  Sipyagin's  letter,Solomin  thought: 
'Quite  simply!  how  else  should  I  go?  I  never 
had  an  evening  suit  in  my  life.  .  .  .  And  why 
the  devil  should  I  go  trailing  out  there?  ...  it 's 
simple  waste  of  time ! '  but  after  a  glance  at 
Nezhdanov's  note,  he  scratched  his  head,  and 
walked  to  the  window,  irresolute. 

'What  answer  are  you  graciously  pleased 
to  send?'  the  pea-grem  footman  questioned 
sedately. 

Solomin  stood  a  moment  longer  at  the 
window,  and  at  last,  shaking  back  his  hair 
and  passing  his  hand  over  his  forehead,  he  said, 
'  I  will  come.     Let  me  have  time  to  dress.' 

The  footman  with  well-bred  discretion  with- 
drew, and  Solomin  sent  for  Pavel,  had  some 
talk  with  him,  ran  over  once  more  to  the  factory, 
and,  putting  on  a  black  coat  with  a  very  long 
waist,  made  him  by  a  provincial  tailor,  and  a 
rather  rusty  top-hat,  which  at  once  gave  a 
wooden  expression  to  his  face,  he  seated  him- 
self in  the  phaeton,  then  suddenly  remembered 

36 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

he  had  taken  no  gloves,  and  called  the  ubiqui- 
tous Pavel,  who  brought  him  a  pair  of  white 
chamois-leather  gloves,  recently  washed,  every 
finger  of  which  had  stretched  at  the  tip  and 
looked  like  a  finger-biscuit.  Solomin  stuffed 
the  gloves  into  his  pocket,  and  said  they  could 
drive  on.  Then  the  footman  with  a  sudden, 
quite  unnecessary  swiftness  leaped  on  to  the 
box,  the  well-trained  coachman  gave  a  shrill 
whistle,  and  the  horses  went  off  at  a  trot. 

While  they  were  gradually  carrying  Solomin 
to  Sipyagin's  estate,  that  statesman  was  sitting 
in  his  drawing-room  with  a  half-cut  political 
pamphlet  on  his  knee,  talking  about  him  to  his 
wife.  He  confided  to  her  that  he  had  really 
written  to  him  with  the  object  of  trying  whether 
he  couldn't  entice  him  away  from  the  merchant's 
factory  to  his  own,  as  it  was  in  a  very  bad  way 
indeed,  and  radical  reforms  were  needed  !  The 
idea  that  Solomin  would  refuse  to  come,  or  even 
fix  another  day,  Sipyagin  could  not  entertain 
for  an  instant ;  though  he  had  himself  offered 
Solomin  a  choice  of  days  in  his  letter. 

'  But  ours  are  paper-mills,  not  cotton-spinning, 
you  know,'  observed  Valentina  Mihalovna. 

*  It 's  all  the  same,  my  love;  there 's  machinery 
in  the  one  and  machinery  in  the  other  .  .  .  and 
he's  a  mechanician.' 

*  But  perhaps  he's  a  specialist,  you  know  Г 

37 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

*My  love — in  the  first  place,  there  are  no 
specialists  in  Russia ;  and,  secondly,  I  repeat 
he 's  a  mechanician  ! ' 

Valentina  Mihalovna  smiled. 

*  Take  care,  my  dear ;  you  've  been  unlucky 
once  already  with  young  men  ;  mind  you  don't 
make  a  second  mistake  ! ' 

'You  mean  Nezhdanov  ?  But  I  consider  I 
attained  my  object  any  way ;  he's  an  excellent 
teacher  for  Kolya.  And  besides,  you  know, 
поп  bis  in  idem  !  Pardon  my  pedantry,  please. 
.  .  .   That  means,  facts  don't  repeat  themselves.' 

*You  think  not?  But  I  think  everything  in 
the  world  repeats  itself  .  .  .  especially  what's 
in  the  nature  of  things  .  .  .  and  especially  with 
young  people.' 

*  Qtie  voulez-voiis  dire  f  asked  Sipyagin,  fling- 
ing the  pamphlet  on  the  table  with  a  graceful 
gesture. 

*  Ouvrez  les  yeux^  et  vous  verrez  ! '  Madame 
Sipyagin  answered  him ;  they  spoke  French, 
of  course,  to  one  another. 

*  H'm  ! '  commented  Sipyagin.  *  Are  you 
alluding  to  the  student  fellow } ' 

'  To  Monsieur  le  student — yes ' 

'  H'm  !  has  he  got  .  .  .'  (he  moved  his  hand 
about  his  forehead  .  .  .)  *  anything  afoot  here  ? 
Eh?' 

*  Open  your  eyes  ! ' 

38 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

*Marianna?  Eh?'  (The  second  *  eh  ?*  was 
decidedly  more  nasal  than  the  first.) 

*  Open  your  eyes,  I  tell  you  ! ' 
Sipyagin  frowned. 

'Well,  we  will  go  into  all  that  later  on. 
Just  now  I  only  wanted  to  say  one  thing.  .  .  . 
This  fellow  will  probably  be  rather  uncom- 
fortable ...  of  course,  that 's  natural  enough, 
he 's  not  used  to  society.  So  we  shall  have  to  be 
rather  friendly  with  him  ...  so  as  not  to  alarm 
him.  I  don't  mean  that  for  you  ;  you  're  a  per- 
fect treasure,  and  you  can  captivate  any  one 
in  no  time,  if  you  choose  to.  fen  sais  quelque 
chose,  Madame  !  I  mention  it  in  regard  to  other 
people  ;  for  instance,  our  friend  there.' 

He  pointed  to  a  fashionable  grey  hat  lying 
on  a  whatnot ;  the  hat  belonged  to  Mr.  Kallom- 
yetsev,  who  happened  to  be  at  Arzhano  early 
that  morning. 

*  //  est  tres  cassant,  you  know ;  he  has  such 
an  intense  contempt  for  the  people,  a  thing  of 
which  I  deeply  disapprove !  I  've  noticed  in 
him,  too,  for  some  time  past,  a  certain  irrita- 
bility and  quarrelsomeness.  ...  Is  his  little 
affair  in  that  quarter'  (Sipyagin  nodded  his 
head  in  some  undefined  direction,  but  his  wife 
understood  him)  ^  not  getting  on  well  ?     Eh  ? ' 

*  Open  your  eyes !  I  tell  you  again.* 
Sipyagin  got  up. 

39 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

*  Eh  ?  *  (This  'eh? '  was  of  an  utterly  different 
character,  and  in  a  different  tone  .  .  .  much 
lower.)  '  You  don't  say  so  !  I  may  open  them 
too  wide  ;  they  'd  better  be  careful/ 

*  That 's  for  you  to  say ;  but  as  to  your  new 
young  man,  if  only  he  comes  to-day  you 
needn't  worry  yourself — every  precaution  shall 
be  taken.' 

And  after  all,  it  turned  out  that  no  precau- 
tion was  at  all  needed.  Solomin  was  not  in 
the  least  uncomfortable  or  alarmed.  When 
the  servant  announced  his  arrival,  Sipyagin 
at  once  got  up,  called  out  loudly  so  that  it 
could  be  heard  in  the  hall,  '  Ask  him  up,  of 
course,  ask  him  up ! '  went  to  the  drawing- 
room  door  and  stood  right  in  front  of  it.  Solo- 
min was  scarcely  through  the  doorway  when 
Sipyagin,  whom  he  almost  knocked  up  against, 
held  out  both  hands  to  him,  and,  smiling 
affably  and  nodding  his  head,  said  cordially, 
*  This  is  indeed  good  ...  on  your  part !  .  .  . 
how  grateful  I  am  ! '  and  led  him  up  to  Valen- 
tina  Mihalovna. 

*  This  is  my  good  wife,'  he  said,  softly  pressing 
his  hand  against  Solomin's  back,  and,  as  it  were, 
impelling  him  towards  Valentina  Mihalovna ; 
'here,  my  dear,  is  our  leading  mechanician 
and  manufacturer,  Vassily  ,  .  .  Fedosyevitch 
Solomin.' 

40 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

Madame  Sipyagin  rose  and,  with  a  beautiful 
upward  quiver  of  her  exquisite  eyelashes,  first 
smiled  to  him — simply — as  to  a  friend ;  then 
held  out  her  little  hand,  palm  uppermost,  her 
elbow  pressed  against  her  waist,  and  her  head 
bent  in  the  direction  of  her  hand  ...  in  the 
attitude  of  a  suppliant.  Solomin  let  both 
husband  and  wife  play  off  their  little  tricks 
upon  him,  shook  hands  with  both,  and  took 
a  seat  at  the  first  invitation  to  do  so.  Sipyagin 
began  to  fuss  about  him  :  '  Wouldn't  he  take 
something?'  But  Solomin  replied  that  he  did 
not  want  anything,  wasn't  in  the  least  fatigued 
with  the  journey,  and  was  completely  at  his 
disposal. 

'You  mean  I  may  ask  you  to  visit  the 
factory?'  cried  Sipyagin,  as  though  quite 
overcome,  and  not  daring  to  believe  in  such 
condescension  on  the  part  of  his  guest. 

*  At  once,'  answered  Solomin. 

*  Ah,  how  good  you  are  !  Shall  I  order  the 
carriage?  or  perhaps  you  would  prefer  to 
walk?  .  .  .' 

*  Why,  it 's  not  far  from  here,  I  suppose, 
your  factory?' 

'  Half  a  mile,  not  more.' 

*  Then  why  order  the  carriage  ? ' 

'  Ah,  that 's  delightful,  then  !     Boy,  my  hat, 
my  stick,   at  once!     And   you,   little    missis, 
41 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

bestir  yourself,  and  have  a  good  dinner  ready 
for  us.     My  hat ! ' 

Sipyagin  was  far  more  perturbed  than  his 
visitor.  Repeating  once  more,  '  But  where 's 
my  hat?  '  he,  the  great  dignitary,  bustled  out  of 
the  room  like  a  frolicsome  schoolboy.  While 
he  was  talking  to  Solomin,  Valentina  Mihalovna 
was  looking  stealthily  but  intently  at  this  *  new 
young  man.'  He  was  sitting  calmly  in  his  easy- 
chair,  with  his  bare  hands  (he  had  not,  after  all, 
put  on  the  gloves)  lying  on  his  knees,  and 
calmly,  though  with  curiosity,  looking  about 
at  the  furniture  and  the  pictures.  *  How  is  it  ? ' 
she  thought ;  '  he  is  a  plebeian  ...  an  unmis- 
takable plebeian  .  .  .  but  how  naturally  he 
behaves ! ' 

Solomin  did  certainly  behave  very  naturally, 
and  not  as  some  do,  who  are  simple  indeed, 
but  with  a  sort  of  intensity,  as  though  to 
say,  *Look  at  me,  understand  what  sort  of  a 
man  I  am,'  but  like  a  man  whose  feelings  and 
ideas  are  strong  without  being  complex. 
Madam  Sipyagin  wanted  to  enter  into  con- 
versation with  him,  but,  to  her  amazement, 
could  not  at  once  find  anything  suitable  to 
say. 

*  Good  heavens ! '  she  thought,  *  can  I  be 
impressed  by  this  workman  ? ' 

'Boris  Andreitch  ought  to  be  very  grateful 
42 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

to   you/   she   said  at  last,   *  for  consenting  to 
devote  part  of  your  valuable  time  to  him.  .  .  .' 

*  It 's  not  so  valuable  as  all  that,  madam,' 
answered  Solomin  ;  *  and  I  'm  not  come  to  you 
for  very  long.' 

*  Voild  ой  Г  ours  a  montre  sa  patte^  she  thought 
in  French,  but  at  that  instant  her  husband  ap- 
peared in  the  open  doorway,  with  his  hat  on 
and  his  stick  in  his  hand. 

Turning  half  round,  he  cried  with  a  free  and 
easy  air  :  '  Vassily  Fedosyevitch  !  Ready  to 
start  ? ' 

Solomin  got  up,  bowed  to  Valentina  Mihal- 
ovna,  and  walked  out  behind  Sipyagin. 

*  Follow  me,  this  way,  this  way,  Vassily 
Fedosyevitch  ! '  Sipyagin  called,  just  as  though 
he  were  going  through  a  forest  and  Solomin 
needed  a  guide.  '  This  way !  there  are  steps 
here,  Vassily  Fedosyevitch.' 

'When  you  are  pleased  to  call  me  by  my 
father's  name,'  Solomin  observed  deliberately, 
.  .  .  *  I  'm  not  Fedosyevitch,  but  Fedotitch.* 

Sipyagin  looked  back  at  him  over  his  shoul- 
der, almost  in  affright. 

'Ah!  I  beg  your  pardon,  indeed,  Vassily 
Fedotitch.' 

'  Not  at  all ;  no  occasion.* 

They  went  into  the  courtyard.     They  hap- 
pened to  meet  Kallomyetsev. 
43 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

*  Where  are  you  off  to  ?  '  he  inquired,  looking 
askance  at  Solomin  ;  *  to  the  factory  ?  С  est  la 
Vindividu  en  question  ? ' 

Sipyagin  opened  his  eyes  wide  and  slightly 
shook  his  head  by  way  of  warning. 

'Yes,  to  the  factory  ...  to  show  my  sins 
and  transgressions  to  this  gentleman — the 
mechanician.  Let  me  introduce  you :  Mr. 
Kallomyetsev,  our  neighbour  here ;  Mr.  Solo- 
min. .  .  .' 

Kallomyetsev  nodded  his  head  twice,  hardly 
perceptibly,  not  at  all  in  Solomin's  direction, 
without  looking  at  him.  But  he  looked  at 
Kallomyetsev,  and  there  was  a  gleam  of  some- 
thing in  his  half-closed  eyes. 

*  May  I  join  you  ? '  asked  Kallomyetsev. 
*  You  know  I  like  instruction.' 

'  Of  course  you  may.' 

They  went  out  of  the  courtyard  into  the  road, 
and  had  not  gone  twenty  steps  when  they  saw 
the  parish  priest  in  a  cassock,  hitched  up  into 
the  belt,  making  his  way  home  to  the  so-called 
'pope's  quarter.'  Kallomyetsev  promptly  left 
his  two  companions,  and  with  long,  resolute 
strides  approached  the  priest,  who  was  not  at 
all  expecting  this  and  was  rather  disconcerted, 
asked  his  blessing,  deposited  a  sounding  kiss 
on  his  moist  red  hand,  and,  turning  to  Solomin, 
flung  him  a  challenging  glance.  He  obviously 
44 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

knew  'a  fact  or  two'  about  him,  and  wanted  to 
show  off  and  to  display  his  contempt  for  this 
learned  rascal. 

*  С  est  une  manifestation,  топ  cherT  Sipyagin 
muttered  through  his  teeth. 

Kallomyetsev  gave  a  snort. 

*  Oui,  топ  cher,  une  manifestation  necessaire 
par  le  temps  qui  court ! ' 

They  went  into  the  factory.  They  were  met 
by  a  Little  Russian  with  an  immense  beard  and 
false  teeth,  who  had  succeeded  the  former  super- 
intendent, the  German,  when  Sipyagin  finally 
dismissed  him.  This  Little  Russian  was  a  tem- 
porary substitute ;  he  obviously  knew  nothing  of 
the  business,  and  could  do  nothing  but  sigh  and 
incessantly  repeat '  Maybe '  .  .  .  and  '  Just  so.' 

The  inspection  of  the  establishment  began. 
Some  of  the  factory  hands  knew  Solomin  by 
sight  and  bowed  to  him  .  .  .  and  to  one  of 
them  he  even  said,  '  Hullo,  Grigory  !  you  here?' 
He  soon  saw  that  the  business  was  badly 
managed.  Money  had  been  laid  out  profusely 
but  injudiciously.  The  machines  turned  out 
to  be  of  poor  quality  ;  many  were  unnecessary 
and  useless ;  many  that  were  needed  were 
lacking.  Sipyagin  kept  constantly  looking  at 
Solomin's  face  to  guess  his  opinion,  put  some 
timid  questions,  wished  to  know  if  he  were 
pleased,  at  any  rate,  with  the  discipline, 
45 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

*  The  system 's  all  right,'  answered  Solomin, 
'but  can  it  give  any  return?     I  doubt  it' 

Not  Sipyagin  only,  but  even  Kallomyetsev, 
felt  that  Solomin  was,  as  it  were,  at  home  in 
the  factory,  that  everything  in  it  was  thoroughly 
familiar  to  him  and  understood  to  the  smallest 
(detail — that  here  he  was  master.  He  laid  his 
hand  on  a  machine  as  a  driver  lays  his  hand  on 
a  horse's  neck ;  he  poked  his  fingers  into  a 
wheel  and  it  stopped  moving  or  began  going 
round ;  he  scooped  up  in  his  hand  out  of  the 
vat  a  little  of  the  pulp  of  which  the  paper  was 
made,  and  at  once  it  revealed  all  its  defects. 
Solomin  said  little,  and  did  not  even  look  at 
the  Little  Russian  at  all ;  in  silence,  too,  he 
walked  out  of  the  factory.  Sipyagin  and  Kal- 
lomyetsev followed  him. 

Sipyagin  did  not  tell  any  one  to  accompany 
him  ...  he  positively  stamped  and  gnashed 
his  teeth.     He  was  very  much  disturbed. 

'I  see  by  your  face,'  he  said,  addressing 
Solomin,  4hat  you're  not  pleased  with  my 
factory,  and  I  know  myself  that  it's  in  an 
unsatisfactory  state  and  unprofitable  ;  however, 
.  .  .  please  don't  scruple  to  speak  out  .  .  . 
what  are  really  its  most  important  short- 
comings ?  And  what  is  to  be  done  to  improve 
it?' 

'Paper-making's  not  in  my  line/  answered 
46 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

Solomin,  *but  one  thing  I  can  tell  you — 
industrial  undertakings  aren't  the  thing  for 
gentlemen.* 

'  You  regard  such  pursuits  as  degrading  for 
gentlemen  ? '  interposed  Kallomyetsev. 

Solomin  smiled  his  broad  smile. 

*  Oh,  no !  What  an  idea !  What  is  there 
degrading  about  it  ?  And  even  if  there  were, 
the  gentry  aren't  squeamish  as  to  that,  you 
know.' 

*Eh?     What's  that?' 

*  I  only  meant,'  Solomin  resumed  tranquilly, 
'that  gentlemen  aren't  used  to  that  sort  of 
business.  Commercial  foresight  is  needed  for 
that ;  everything  has  to  be  put  on  a  different 
footing ;  you  need  training  for  it.  The  gentry 
don't  understand  that.  We  see  them  right  and 
left  founding  cloth  factories,  wool  factories,  and 
all  sorts,  but  in  the  long-run  all  these  factories 
fall  into  the  hands  of  merchants.  It's  a  pity, 
for  the  merchant's  just  as  much  of  a  blood- 
sucker ;  but  there 's  no  help  for  it.' 

*  To  listen  to  you,'  cried  Kallomyetsev,  '  one 
would  suppose  financial  questions  were  beyond 
our  nobility ! ' 

'  Oh,  quite  the  contrary !  the  gentry  are  first- 
rate  hands  at  that.     For  getting   concessions 
for  railroads,  founding    banks,  begging    some 
tax-exemption  for  themselves,  or  anything  of 
47 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

that  sort,  none  are  a  match  for  the  gentry. 
They  accumulate  great  capitals.  I  hinted  at 
that  just  now,  when  you  were  pleased  to  take 
offence  at  it.  But  I  was  thinking  of  regular 
industrial  enterprises.  I  say  regular,  because 
founding  private  taverns  and  petty  truck-shops 
and  lending  the  peasants  wheat  or  money  at 
a  hundred  and  a  hundred  and  fifty  per  cent,  as 
so  many  of  our  landowning  gentry  are  doing 
now — operations  like  that  I  can't  regard  as 
genuine  commercial  business.' 

Kallomyetsev  made  no  reply.  He  belonged 
to  just  that  new  species  of  money-lending  land- 
owner whom  Markelov  had  referred  to  in  his 
last  talk  with  Nezhdanov,  and  he  was  the  more 
inhuman  in  his  extortions  that  he  never  had 
any  personal  dealings  with  the  peasants ;  he 
did  not  admit  them  into  his  perfumed  Euro- 
pean study,  but  did  business  with  them 
through  an  agent.  As  he  listened  to  Solomin's 
deliberate,  as  it  were,  impartial  speech,  he  was 
raging  inwardly  .  .  .  but  he  was  silent  this 
time,  and  only  the  working  of  the  muscles  of 
his  face  betrayed  what  was  passing  within  him. 

'  But,  Vassily  Fedotitch,  allow  me — allow 
me/  began  Sipyagin.  'AH  that  you  are  ex- 
pressing was  a  perfectly  just  criticism  in  former 
days,  when  the  nobility  enjoyed  .  .  .  totally 
different  privileges,  and  were  altogether  in 
48 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

another  position.  But  nowadays,  after  all  the 
beneficial  reforms  ...  in  our  industrial  age, 
why  cannot  the  nobility  turn  their  energies  and 
abilities  into  such  enterprises?  Why  should 
they  be  unable  to  understand  what  is  under- 
stood by  the  simple,  often  unlettered,  merchant? 
They  don't  suffer  from  lack  of  education,  and 
one  may  even  claim  with  confidence  that  they 
are  in  some  sense  the  representatives  of  enlight- 
enment and  progress.' 

Boris  Andreevitch  spoke  very  well ;  his 
fluency  would  have  had  great  effect  in  Peters- 
burg— in  his  department — or  even  in  higher 
quarters,  but  on  Solomin  it  produced  no  im- 
pression whatever. 

'The  gentry  cannot  manage  these  things,* 
he  repeated. 

*  And  why  not  ?  why  ?  *  Kallomyetsev  almost 
shouted. 

'Because  they  will  always  remain  mere 
officials.' 

'Officials?'  Kallomyetsev  laughed  malig- 
nantly. '  You  don't  quite  realise  what  you  are 
saying,  I  fancy,  Mr.  Solomin.'  Solomin  still 
smiled  as  before. 

'  What  makes  you  fancy  that,  Mr.  Kolo- 
mentsev  ? '  (Kallomyetsev  positively  shuddered 
at  such  a  "  mutilation  "  of  his  surname.)  '  No, 
I  always  fully  realise  what  I  am  saying.' 

VOL.  II.  49  D 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

*Then  explain  what  you  meant  by  your  last 
expression/ 

*  Certainly ;  in  my  idea,  every  official  is  an 
outsider,  and  has  always  been  so,  and  the  gentry 
have  now  become  outsiders.' 

Kallomyetsev  laughed  still  more. 

*  I  beg  your  pardon,  my  dear  sir ;  that  I 
can't  make  head  or  tail  of! ' 

*  So  much  the  worse  for  you.  Make  a  great 
effort  .  .  .  perhaps  you  will  understand  it/ 

*Sir!' 

*  Gentlemen,  gentlemen,'  Sipyagin  interposed 
hurriedly  with  an  air  of  searching  earnestly 
about  him  for  some  one.  *  If  you  please,  if  you 
please  .  .  .  Kalloinyetsev,  je  vous  prie  de  vous 
calmer.  And  dinner  will  be  ready  soon,  to  be 
sure.     Pray,  gentlemen,  follow  me  ! ' 

'Valentina  Mihalovna ! '  whined  Kallom- 
yetsev, running  into  her  boudoir  five  minutes 
later,  4t's  really  beyond  everything  what  your 
husband  is  doing !  One  Nihilist  installed  here 
among  you  already,  and  now  he 's  bringing  in 
another !     And  this  one 's  the  worst ! ' 

*  How  so?' 

*  Upon  my  word,  he 's  advocating  the  deuce 
knows  what ;  and  besides — observe  one  thing : 
he  has  been  talking  to  your  husband  for  a 
whole  hour,  and  never  once^  not  once^  did  he 
say,  Your  Excellency !     Le  vagabond  Г 

"JO 


XXIV 

Before  dinner  Sipyagin  called  his  wife  aside 
into  the  library.  He  wanted  to  have  a  talk 
with  her  alone.  He  seemed  worried.  He  told 
her  that  the  factory  was  distinctly  coming  to 
grief,  that  this  man  Solomin  struck  him  as  a 
very  capable  fellow,  though  a  trifle  .  .  .  abrupt, 
and  that  they  must  continue  to  be  mix  petits 
soins  with  him.  *  Ah !  if  we  could  only  per- 
suade him  to  come,  what  a  good  thing  it  would 
be!'  he  repeated  twice.  Sipyagin  was  much 
irritated  at  Kallomyetsev's  presence.  .  .  .  '  Damn 
the  fellow !  He  sees  Nihilists  on  every  side, 
and  thinks  of  nothing  but  suppressing  them. 
He 's  welcome  to  suppress  them  at  home.  He 
positively  can't  hold  his  tongue  ! ' 

Valentina  Mihalovna  observed  that  she  would 
be  delighted  to  be  aux petits  soins  with  this  new 
guest,  only  he  seemed  not  to  care  for  these 
petits  soins  and  not  to  notice  them  ;  not  that  he 
was  rude,  but  very  cool  in  a  sort  of  way,  which 
was  extremely  remarkable  in  a  man  du  commun. 
51 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

'Never  mind  ...  do  your  best!'  Sipyagin 
besought  her.  Valentina  Mihalovna  promised 
to  do  her  best,  and  she  did  do  her  best.  She 
began  by  talking  en  tete-a-tete  to  Kallomyetsev. 
There  is  no  knowing  what  she  said  to  him,  but 
he  came  to  table  with  the  air  of  a  man  who 
has  *  undertaken  '  to  be  discreet  and  submissive 
whatever  he  may  have  to  listen  to.  This  oppor- 
tune 'resignation'  gave  his  whole  bearing  a 
shade  of  slight  melancholy ;  but  what  dignity 
...  oh !  what  dignity  there  was  in  every  one 
of  his  movements !  Valentina  Mihalovna  in- 
troduced Solomin  to  all  the  family  circle  (he 
looked  at  Marianna  with  most  attention),  and 
made  him  sit  beside  her,  on  her  right  hand,  at 
dinner.  Kallomyetsev  was  seated  on  her  left. 
As  he  unfolded  his  napkin,  he  pursed  up  his 
face  with  a  smile  that  seemed  to  say,  '  Come, 
now,  let  us  go  through  our  little  farce ! '  Sipy- 
agin sat  facing  him,  and  with  some  anxiety 
kept  an  eye  on  him.  By  Madame  Sipyagin's 
rearrangement  of  the  seats  at  table,  Nezhdanov 
was  placed  not  beside  Marianna,  but  between 
Anna  Zaharovna  and  Sipyagin.  Marianna 
found  her  card  (for  the  dinner  was  a  cere- 
monious affair)  on  the  dinner-napkin  between 
Kallomyetsev  and  Kolya.  The  dinner  was 
served  in  great  style ;  there  was  even  a  menu — 
a  decorated  card  lay  beside  each  knife  and 
52 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

fork.  Immediately  after  the  soup,  Sipyagin 
turned  the  conversation  again  on  his  factory, 
and  on  manufacturing  industry  in  Russia 
generally  ;  Solomin,  after  his  habit,  answered 
very  briefly.  Directly  he  began  to  speak, 
Marianna's  eyes  were  fastened  upon  him. 
Kallomyetsev,  as  he  sat  beside  her,  had 
begun  by  addressing  various  compliments  to 
her  (seeing  that  he  had  been  specially  begged 
*not  to  provoke  an  argument'),  but  she  was 
not  listening  to  him  ;  and  indeed  he  uttered 
these  civilities  in  a  half-hearted  fashion  to 
satisfy  his  conscience :  he  realised  that  there 
was  some  barrier  between  the  young  girl  and 
him  that  he  could  not  get  over. 

As  for  Nezhdanov,  something  still  worse 
had  come  into  existence  between  him  and 
the  head  of  the  house.  .  .  .  For  Sipyagin, 
Nezhdanov  had  become  simply  a  piece  of 
furniture,  or  an  empty  space,  which  he  utterly 
— it  seemed  utterly — failed  to  remark !  These 
new  relations  had  taken  shape  so  quickly  and 
unmistakably,  that  when  Nezhdanov  during 
dinner  uttered  a  few  words  in  reply  to  an 
observation  of  his  neighbour,  Anna  Zaharovna, 
Sipyagin  looked  round  wonderingly  as  though 
asking  himself,  *  Where  does  that  sound  come 
from  ? ' 

Obviously  Sipyagin  possessed  some  of  the 
53 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

characteristics  that  distinguish  Russians  of  the 
very  highest  position. 

After  the  fish,  Valentina  Mihalovna — who  for 
her  part  had  been  lavishing  all  her  arts  and 
graces  on  her  right,  that  is,  on  Solomin — re- 
marked in  English  to  her  husband  across  the 
table  that  *  our  guest  drinks  no  wine,  perhaps 
he  would  like  beer.  . .  .'  Sipyagin  called  loudly 
for 'ale,'  while  Solomin  turning  quietly  to  Valen- 
tina Mihalovna  said,  *You  don't  know,  madam, 
I  expect,  that  I  spent  over  two  years  in  England, 
and  can  understand  and  speak  English ;  I  tell 
you  this  in  case  you  might  want  t  speak  of 
something  private  before  me.'  Valentina  Mihal- 
ovna laughed  and  began  to  assure  him  this 
precaution  was  quite  unnecessary,  since  he 
would  hear  nothing  but  good  of  himself; 
inwardly  she  thought  Solomin's  action  rather 
queer,  but  delicate  in  its  own  way. 

At  this  point  Kallomyetsev  broke  out  at 
last. 

'  So  you  have  been  in  England,*  he  began, 
'and  probably  you  studied  the  manners  and 
customs  there.  Allow  me  to  inquire,  did  you 
think  they  were  worth  imitating  ?  * 

'  Some,  yes  ;  some,  no.' 

'That's  short,  and  not  clear,'  observed 
Kallomyetsev,  trying  not  to  notice  the  signs 
Sipyagin  was  making  to  him.  *  But  you  were 
54 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

Speaking  this  morning  about  the  nobles.  .  .  . 
You  have  doubtless  had  an  opportunity  of 
studying  what 's  called  in  England  the  landed 
gentry  on  the  spot  ? ' 

*  No ;  I  had  no  such  opportunity  :  I  moved 
in  a  totally  different  sphere,  but  I  formed  a 
notion  of  these  gentlemen  for  myself.' 

*Well,  do  you  imagine  that  such  a  landed 
gentry  is  impossible  among  us,  and  that  in  any 
case  we  ought  not  to  wish  for  it  ? ' 

*  In  the  first  place,  I  certainly  do  imagine 
it  to  be  impossible,  and,  secondly,  I  think  it's 
not  worth  while  wishing  for  it  either.' 

*  Why  so,  my  dear  sir  ? '  said  Kallomyetsev. 
The  last  three  words  were  by  way  of  soothing 
Sipyagin,  who  was  very  uneasy  and  could  not 
sit  still  in  his  chair. 

'Because   in    twenty   or    thirty  years  your 
landed  gentry  will  cease  to  exist  any  way.' 
*But,  really,  why  so,  my  dear  sir?' 
'Because  by  that  time  the  land  will   have 
come  into  the  hands  of  owners,  without  dis- 
tinction of  rank.' 

*  Merchants  ? ' 

*  Probably  merchants  ;  mostly.' 
*How  will  that  be?' 

*  Why,  by  their  buying  it — the  land,  I  mean.* 

*  Of  the  nobles?' 
*Yes,  the  nobles.' 

55 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

Kallomyetsev  gave  a  condescending  smirk. 
'You  said  the  very  same  thing  before,  I  re- 
member, of  mills  and  factories,  and  now  you 
say  it  of  the  whole  of  the  land.' 

'Yes,  I  say  the  same  now  of  the  whole  of 
the  land/ 

'And  you  will  be  very  glad  of  it,  I  sup- 
pose?' 

'  Not  at  all,  as  I  have  explained  to  you 
already ;  the  people  will  be  no  better  off  for 
it' 

Kallomyetsev  faintly  raised  one  hand.  'What 
solicitude  for  the  people's  welfare,  only  fancy  ! ' 

'  Vassily  Fedotitch  ! '  cried  Sipyagin  at  the 
top  of  his  voice.  '  They  have  brought  you 
some  beer  !  Voyons,  Simeon  ! '  he  added  in  an 
undertone. 

But  Kallomyetsev  would  not  be  quiet. 

'You  have  not,  I  see,'  he  began  again,  ad- 
dressing Solomin,  'an  over-flattering  opinion 
of  the  merchants ;  but  they  belong  by  extrac- 
tion to  the  people,  don't  they  ? ' 

'  And  so  ? ' 

'  I  supposed  that  everything  relating  to  the 
people  or  derived  from  the  people  would  be 
good  in  your  eyes.' 

'  Oh,  no,  sir !  You  were  mistaken  in  suppos- 
ing that.  Our  people  are  open  to  reproach  in 
many  ways,  though  they  're  not  always  in  the 
56 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

wrong.  The  merchant  among  us  so  far  is  a 
brigand ;  he  uses  his  own  private  property  for 
brigandage.  .  .  .  What's  he  to  do?  He's 
exploited  and  he  exploits.  As  for  the 
people ' 

'The  people?'  queried  Kallomyetsev  in 
high  falsetto. 

'  The  people  .  .  .  are  asleep/ 

*  And  you  would  wake  them  ?  * 
'  That  wouldn't  be  amiss.' 

*  Aha  !  aha  !  so  that 's  what * 

'  Excuse  me,  excuse  me/  Sipyagin  pro- 
nounced imperiously.  He  realised  that  the 
instant  had  come  to  draw  the  line,  so  to  speak 
.  .  .  to  close  the  discussion.  And  he  drew  the 
line  !  He  closed  the  discussion  !  With  a  wave 
of  his  right  hand  from  the  wrist,  while  his 
elbow  remained  propped  on  the  table,  he 
delivered  a  long  and  detailed  speech.  On 
one  side  he  commended  the  conservatives,  on 
the  other  approved  of  the  liberals,  awarding 
some  preference  to  the  latter,  reckoning  him- 
self among  their  number ;  he  extolled  the 
people,  but  referred  to  some  of  their  weak 
points ;  expressed  complete  confidence  in  the 
government,  but  asked  himself  whether  all 
subordinate  officials  were  fully  carrying  out 
its  benevolent  designs.  He  recognised  the 
service  and  the  dignity  of  literature,  but  de- 
57 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

clared  that  without  the  utmost  caution  it  was 
inadmissible !  He  looked  towards  the  east ; 
first  rejoiced,  then  was  dubious :  looked  to- 
wards the  west;  first  was  apathetic,  then 
suddenly  waked  up !  Finally,  he  proposed  a 
toast  in  honour  of  the  trinity  :  '  Religion,  Agri- 
culture, and  Industry ! ' 

'  Under  the  aegis  of  power ! '  Kallomyetsev 
added  severely. 

'Under  the  aegis  of  wise  and  indulgent 
authority,'  Sipyagin  amended. 

The  toast  was  drunk  in  silence.  The  empty 
space  to  the  left  of  Sipyagin,  known  as  Nezh- 
danov,  did,  it  is  true,  give  vent  to  some  sound 
of  disapprobation,  but,  evoking  no  notice,  it 
relapsed  into  silence  ;  and  the  dinner  reached 
a  satisfactory  conclusion,  undisturbed  by  any 
controversy. 

Valentina  Mihalovna,  with  the  most  charming 
smile,  handed  Solomin  a  cup  of  coffee;  he 
drank  it,  and  was  already  looking  for  his  hat 
.  .  .  but,  softly  taken  by  the  arm  by  Sipyagin, 
was  promptly  drawn  away  into  his  study,  and 
received  first  a  most  excellent  cigar,  and  then 
a  proposal  that  he  should  enter  his,  Sipyagin's 
factory,  on  the  most  advantageous  terms! 
'  You  shall  be  absolute  master,  Vassily  Fedot- 
itch,  absolute  master!'  The  cigar  Solomin 
accepted ;  the  proposal  he  refused.  He  posi- 
58 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

tively  stuck  to  his  refusal,  however  much 
Sipyagin  insisted. 

'  Don't  say  "  No  "  straight  off,  dear  Vassily 
Fedotitch.  Say  at  least  that  you'll  think  it 
over  till  to-morrow !' 

'  But  that  would  make  no  difference.  I  can't 
accept  your  offer,' 

*  Till  to-morrow !  Vassily  Fedotitch !  what 
harm  will  it  do  to  defer  your  decision  ?  ' 

Solomin  admitted  that  it  would  certainly  do 
him  no  harm  ...  he  left  the  study,  however, 
and  again  went  in  search  of  his  hat.  But 
Nezhdanov,  who  had  not  till  that  instant  suc- 
ceeded in  exchanging  a  single  word  with  him, 
drew  near  and  hurriedly  whispered :  '  For 
mercy's  sake,  don't  go  away,  or  it  will  be  im- 
possible for  us  to  have  a  talk.' 

Solomin  left  his  hat  alone,  the  more  readily 
as  Sipyagin  observing  his  irresolute  movements 
up  and  down  the  drawing-room,  cried,  *  You '11 
stay  the  night  with  us,  of  course  ? ' 

*  I  am  at  your  disposal,'  answered  Solomin. 
The  grateful  glance  flung  at  him  by  Marianna 

— she  was  standing  at  the  drawing-room  window 
— set  him  musing. 


59 


XXV 

Marianna  had  pictured  Solomin  to  herself  as 
utterly  different,  before  his  visit.  At  first  sight 
he  had  struck  her  as  somehow  undefined,  lack- 
ing in  individuality.  .  .  .  She  had  seen  plenty 
of  fair-haired,  sinewy,  thin  men  like  that,  she 
told  herself!  But  the  more  she  watched  him, 
the  more  she  listened  to  what  he  said,  the 
stronger  grew  her  feeling  of  confidence  in 
him — confidence  was  just  what  it  was. 

This  calm,  heavy,  not  to  say  clumsy  man 
was  not  only  incapable  of  lying  or  bragging ; 
one  might  rely  on  him,  like  a  stone  wall.  .  .  . 
He  would  not  betray  one ;  more  than  that,  he 
would  understand  one  and  support  one.  Mari- 
anna even  fancied  that  this  was  not  only  her 
feeling — that  Solomin  was  producing  the  same 
effect  on  every  one  present.  To  what  he 
said,  she  attached  no  special  significance ;  all 
this  talk  of  merchants  and  factories  had  little 
interest  for  her;  but  the  way  he  talked,  the 
way  he  looked  and  smiled  as  he  talked,  she 
liked  immensely.  .  .  . 

60 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

A  truthful  man  .  .  .  that  was  the  great 
thing !  that  was  what  touched  her.  It  is  a 
well-known  fact,  though  by  no  means  easy 
to  understand,  that  Russians  are  the  greatest 
liars  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  and  yet  there 
is  nothing  they  respect  like  truth — nothing 
attracts  them  so  much.  Besides,  Solomin 
was  of  a  quite  especial  stamp,  in  Marianna's 
eyes  ;  on  him  rested  the  halo  of  a  man  recom- 
mended by  Vassily  Nikolaevitch  himself  to 
his  followers.  During  dinner  Marianna  had 
several  times  exchanged  glances  with  Nezh- 
danov  in  reference  to  him,  and  in  the  end  she 
suddenly  caught  herself  in  an  involuntary 
comparison  of  the  two  men,  and  not  to  Nezh- 
danov's  advantage.  Nezhdanov's  features  were 
undoubtedly  far  handsomer  and  more  pleasing 
than  Solomin's ;  but  his  face  expressed  a 
medley  of  distracting  emotions ;  vexation, 
embarrassment,  impatience  .  .  .  even  despon- 
dency; he  seemed  sitting  on  thorns,  tried  to 
speak,  and  broke  off,  laughing  nervously.  .  .  . 
Solomin,  on  the  other  hand,  produced  the  im- 
pression of  being,  very  likely,  a  little  bored, 
but,  any  way,  quite  at  home  ;  and  of  being,  in 
what  he  did  or  felt,  at  all  times  utterly  indepen- 
dent of  what  other  people  might  do  or  feel. 
'Decidedly,  we  must  ask  advice  of  this  man,' 
was  Marianna's  thought ;  *  he  will  be  sure  to 
6i 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

give  us  some  good  advice.'  It  was  she  who 
had  sent  Nezhdanov  to  him  after  dinner. 

The  evening  passed  rather  drearily ;  luckily 
dinner  was  not  over  till  late,  and  there  was 
not  much  time  to  get  through  before  night. 
Kallomyetsev  was  politely  sulky  and  said 
nothing. 

'What's  the  matter?'  Madame  Sipyagin 
asked  him  half-jeeringly.  *  Have  you  lost 
something?' 

'That's  just  it/  answered  Kallomyetsev. 
'  They  tell  a  story  of  one  of  our  commanders 
of  the  guards  that  he  used  to  complain  that 
his  soldiers  had  lost  their  socks.  "  Find  me 
that  sock  ! "  And  I  say,  find  me  the  word 
"  sir  "  !  That  word  "  sir  "  has  gone  astray,  and 
all  proper  respect  and  reverence  for  rank  have 
gone  with  it ! ' 

Madame  Sipyagin  declared  to  Kallomyetsev 
that  she  was  not  prepared  to  assist  him  in  his 
quest  of  it. 

Emboldened  by  the  success  of  his  'speech' 
at  dinner,  Sipyagin  delivered  a  couple  of  other 
harangues,  letting  drop  as  he  did  so  a  few 
statesmanlike  reflections  on  indispensable 
measures ;  he  dropped  also  a  few  sayings 
— des  mots — more  weighty  than  witty,  he  had 
specially  prepared  for  Petersburg.  One  of 
these  sayings  he  even  said  over  twice,  pre- 
62 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

fixing  the  phrases,  'if  I  may  be  permitted  so 
to  express  myself.'  It  was  a  criticism  of  one 
of  the  ministers  of  the  day,  of  whom  he  said 
that  he  had  a  fickle  and  frivolous  intellect, 
bent  on  visionary  aims.  On  the  other  hand 
Sipyagin,  not  forgetting  that  he  had  to  deal 
with  a  Russian — one  of  the  people — did  not 
fail  to  knock  off  a  few  sayings,  intended  to 
prove  that  he  was  himself,  not  merely  Russian 
in  blood,  but  a  real  Russian  bear,  every  inch 
of  him,  and  in  close  touch  with  the  very 
inmost  essence  of  the  national  life !  Thus, 
for  example,  upon  Kallomyetsev  observing 
that  the  rain  might  delay  getting  in  the  hay, 
he  promptly  rejoined,  '  Let  the  hay  be  black, 
for  then  the  buckwheat  '11  be  white ' ;  he  used 
proverbial  terms  such  as,  '  A  store  masterless 
is  a  child  fatherless ' ;  *  Try  on  ten  times,  for 
once  you  cut  out ' ;  '  Where  there  is  corn,  you 
can  always  find  a  bushel ' ;  '  If  the  leaves  on 
the  birch  are  big  as  farthings  by  St.  Yegor's 
day,  there'll  be  corn  in  the  barn  by  the 
feast  of  Our  Lady  of  Kazan.'  It  must  be 
admitted  that  he  sometimes  got  them  wrong, 
and  would  say,  for  instance,  *  Let  the  carpenter 
stick  to  his  last ! '  or  *  Fine  houses  make  full 
bellies  ! '  But  the  society  in  which  these  mis- 
haps befell  did  not  for  the  most  part  even  sus- 
pect that '  no^re  bon  Russe '  had  blundered  ;  and 
63 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

indeed,  thanks  to  Prince  Kovrizhkin,  it  is  pretty 
well  inured  to  such  Russian  malapropisms.  And 
all  these  saws  and  sayings  Sipyagin  would 
enunciate  in  a  peculiar  hale  and  hearty,  almost 
thick,  voice,  ^  d'une  voix  rustique^  Such  idioms, 
dropped  in  due  place  and  season  at  Peters- 
burg, set  influential  ladies  of  the  highest  posi- 
tion exclaiming,  *  Comme  il  connatt  bien  les 
moeurs  de  notre  peuple!'  While  equally  in- 
fluential dignitaries  of  equally  high  position 
would  add,  '  Les  moeurs  et  les  besoins  ! ' 

Valentina  Mihalovna  did  her  very  best  with 
Solomin  ;  but  the  obvious  failure  of  her  efl'orts 
disheartened  her ;  and  as  she  passed  Kallom- 
yetsev  she  could  not  resist  mumuring  in 
an  undertone,  ^  Mon  Dieu,  que  je  me  sens 
fatiguee  I ' 

To  which  the  latter  responded,  with  an 
ironical  bow,  '  Tu  Г  as  voulu,  Georges  Dandin  ! ' 

At  last,  after  the  usual  flicker-up  of  polite- 
ness and  affability,  displayed  on  all  the  faces 
of  a  bored  assembly  at  the  moment  of  break- 
ing up,  after  abrupt  handshaking,  smiles  and 
amiable  simpers,  the  weary  guests  and  weary 
hosts  separated. 

Solomin,  who  was  conducted  to  almost  the 
best  bedchamber  on    the   second   floor,   with 
E^iglish    toilet    accessories    and    a    bathroom 
attached,  made  his  way  to  Nezhdanov. 
64 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

The  latter  began  by  thanking  him  warmly 
for  consenting  to  stay  the  night. 

*  I  know  ...  it 's  a  sacrifice  for  you.  .  .  .* 
*0h,  nonsense!'  Solomin  responded  in  his 

deliberate  tones;  *  much  of  a  sacrifice  !    Besides, 
I  can't  say  no  to  you.' 

*  Why  so?' 

*  Oh,  because  I  like  you.' 

Nezhdanov  was  delighted  and  astounded, 
while  Solomin  pressed  his  hand.  Then  he 
seated  himself  astride  on  a  chair,  lighted  a 
cigar,  and,  with  both  elbows  on  the  chair-back, 
he  observed,  *  Come,  tell  me  what 's  the  matter.' 

Nezhdanov,  too,  seated  himself  astride  on  a 
chair  facing  Solomin,  but  he  did  not  light  a 
cigar. 

*  What's  the  matter,  you  ask?  .  .  .  The 
matter  is  that  I  want  to  run  away  from  here.' 

'That  is,  you  want  to  leave  this  house? 
Well,  what  of  it  ?     Good  luck  to  you  ! ' 

*  Not  to  leave  .  .  .  but  to  run  away.' 

*  Why  ?  do  they  detain  you  ?  You  .  .  .  per- 
haps you  've  received  some  salary  in  advance  ? 
If  so,  you  need  only  say  the  word.  ...  I 
should  be  delighted.' 

*  You  don't  understand  me,  my  dear  Solomin. 
.  .  .  I  said,  run  away — not  leave — because  I  'm 
not  going  away  from  here  alone.' 

Solom.in  raised  his  head. 
VOL.  II.  65  В 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

'With  whom?* 

'  With  that  girl  you  saw  here  to-day.  ,  ,  .' 

*  That  girl !  She  has  a  nice  face.  You  love 
one  another,  eh?  ...  Or  is  it  simply,  you 
have  made  up  your  minds  to  go  away  together 
from  a  house  where  you  are  both  unhappy  ? ' 

*  We  love  one  another.' 

*Ah!'  Solomin  was  silent  for  a  while.  *  Is 
she  a  relation  of  the  people  here  ? ' 

'  Yes.  But  she  fully  shares  our  convictions, 
and  is  ready  to  go  forward.' 

Solomin  smiled. 

*  And  are  you  ready,  Nezhdanov  ?  * 
Nezhdanov  frowned  slightly. 

'  Why  that  question  ?  I  will  prove  my  readi- 
ness in  action.' 

*  I  have  no  doubts  of  you,  Nezhdanov.  I 
only  asked  because  I  imagine  there  is  no  one 
ready  besides  you.' 

'What  of  Markelov?' 

'  Yes,  to  be  sure,  there  is  Markelov ;  but  he, 
I  expect,  was  born  ready.' 

At  that  instant  some  one  gave  a  light,  rapid 
tap  at  the  door,  and,  without  waiting  for  an 
answer,  opened  it.  It  was  Marianna.  She  went 
up  at  once  to  Solomin. 

*  I  am  sure,'  she  began,  '  you  will  not  be 
surprised  at  seeing  me  here  at  such  an  hour. 
. . .  He '  (Marianna  indicated  Nezhdanov)  '  has 

66 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

told  you  everything,  of  course.  Give  me  your 
hand,  and,  believe  me,  it  is  an  honest  girl 
standing  before  you/ 

*Yes,  I  know  that,'  Solomin  responded  seri- 
ously. He  had  risen  from  his  seat  directly 
Marianna  appeared.  '  I  was  looking  at  you  at 
dinner-time  and  thinking,  "  What  honest  eyes 
that  young  lady  has  ! "  Nezhdanov  has  been 
telling  me,  certainly,  of  your  plan.  But  why 
do  you  mean  to  run  away,  exactly  ? ' 

*Why?  The  cause  I  have  at  heart  .  ,  . 
don't  be  surprised;  Nezhdanov  has  kept  no- 
thing from  me  .  .  .  that  work  is  bound  to  begin 
in  a  few  days  .  .  .  and  am  I  to  remain  in  this 
aristocratic  house,  where  everything  is  deceit 
and  lying  ?  People  I  love  will  be  exposed  to 
danger,  and  am  I ' 

Solomin  stopped  her  by  a  motion  of  his 
hand. 

*Den't  upset  yourself.  Sit  down,  and  I'll 
sit  down.  You  sit  down,  too,  Nezhdanov.  Let 
me  tell  you,  if  you  have  no  other  reason,  then 
there 's  no  need  for  you  to  run  away  from  here 
as  yet.  That  work  isn't  going  to  begin  as  soon 
as  you  suppose.  A  little  more  prudent  con- 
sideration is  needed  in  that  matter.  It's  no 
good  blundering  forward  at  random.  Believe 
me.' 

Marianna  sat  down  and  wrapped  herself  up 
67 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

m    a    big    plaid,  which    she    flung   over  her 
shoulders. 

'  But  I  can't  stay  here  any  longer.  I  'm 
insulted  by  every  one  here.  Only  to-day  that 
imbecile,  Anna  Zaharovna,  said  before  Kolya, 
alluding  to  my  father,  that  the  apple  never 
falls  far  from  the  apple-tree.  Kolya  even  was 
surprised,  and  asked  what  that  meant.  Not  to 
speak  of  Valentina  Mihalovna  ! ' 

Solomin  stopped  her  again,  and  this  time 
with  a  smile.  Marianna  realised  that  he  was 
laughing  at  her  a  little,  but  his  smile  could 
never  have  offended  any  one. 

'What  do  you  mean,  dear  lady?  I  don't 
know  who  that  Anna  Zaharovna  may  be,  nor 
what  apple-tree  you  are  talking  about  .  .  . 
but  come,  now ;  some  fool  of  a  woman  says 
something  foolish  to  you,  and  can't  you  put  up 
with  it?  How  are  you  going  to  get  through 
life  ?  The  whole  world  rests  on  fools.  No, 
that's  not  a  reason.     Is  there  anything  else?* 

*  I  am  convinced,'  Nezhdanov  interposed  in  a 
deep  voice,  *  that  Mr.  Sipyagin  will  turn  me 
out  of  the  house  of  himself  in  a  day  or  two. 
He  has  certainly  been  told  tales.  He  treats 
me  ...  in  the  most  contemptuous  fashion.' 

Solomin  turned  to  Nezhdanov. 

'Then  what  would  you  run  away  for, if  you'll 
be  turned  away  in  any  case  ? ' 
68 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

Nezhdanov  did  not  at  once  find  a  reply. 

*  I  was  telling  you  before '  he  began. 

*  He  used  that  expression/  put  in  Marianna, 
'because  I  am  going  with  him.' 

Solomin  looked  at  her,  and  shook  his  head 
good-humouredly. 

*  Yes,  yes,  my  dear  young  lady  ;  but  I  tell  you 
again,  if  you  are  meaning  to  leave  this  house  just 
because  you  suppose  the  revolution  is  going  to 
break  out  directly * 

*  That 's  what  we  wrote  for  you  to  come  for, 
Marianna  interrupted,  4o  find  out  for  certain 
what  position  things  are  in.' 

*  In  that  case,'  pursued  Solomin,  *  I  repeat, 
you  can  stop  at  home — a  good  bit  longer.  If 
you  mean  to  run  away  because  you  love  each 
other  and  you  can't  be  united  otherwise, 
then ' 

'Well,  what  then?' 

*  Then  it  only  remains  for  me  to  wish  you,  as 
the  old-fashioned  saying  is,  love  and  good 
counsel,  and,  if  need  be  and  can  be,  to  give  you 
any  help  in  my  power.  Because,  my  dear  young 
lady,  you,  and  him  too,  I  've  loved  from  first 
sight  as  if  you  were  my  own  brother  and  sister.* 

Marianna  and  Nezhdanov  both  went  up  to 
him  on  the  right  and  the  left,  and  each  clasped 
one  of  his  hands. 

*Only  tell  us  what  to  do,'  said  Marianna. 
69 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

*  Supposing  the  revolution  is  still  far  off  .  .  . 
there  are  preparatory  steps  to  be  taken,  work 
to  be  done,  impossible  in  this  house,  in  these 
surroundings,  to  which  we  should  go  so  eagerly- 
together  .  .  .  you  point  them  out  to  us,  you 
only  tell  us  where  we  are  to  go.  .  ,  .  Send  us ! 
You  will  send  us,  won't  you  ?  ' 

*  Where?' 

*  To  the  peasants.  .  .  .  Where  should  we  go, 
if  not  to  the  people  ? ' 

'Into  the  forest,'  thought  Nezhdanov.  .  .  . 
Paklin's  saying  recurred  to  his  mind.  Solomin 
looked  intently  at  Marianna. 

*  You  want  to  get  to  know  the  people  ?  * 

*  Yes ;  that  is,  we  don't  only  want  to  get  to 
know  the  people,  but  to  influence  ...  to 
work  for  them/ 

'  Very  good  ;  I  promise  you,  you  shall  get  to 
know  them.  I  will  give  you  a  chance  of  in- 
fluencing them  and  working  for  them.  And 
you,  Nezhdanov,  are  ready  to  go  .  .  .  for  her 
.  .  .  and  for  them  ? ' 

*0f  course  I  am  ready/  he  declared  hur- 
riedly. '  Juggernaut,'  another  saying  of  Paklin's, 
recurred  to  him  ;  ^  here  it  comes  rolling  along, 
the  huge  chariot  .  .  .  and  I  hear  the  crash  and 
rumble  of  its  wheels.  .  .  .' 

*  Very  good,'  Solomin  repeated  thoughtfully. 

•  But  when  do  you  intend  to  run  away  ? ' 

70 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

'Why  not  to-morrow?'  cried  Marianna. 

*  Very  good — but  where  ? ' 

*Sh  .  .  .  gently  .  .  .'  whispered  Nezhdanov. 

*  Some  one  is  coming  along  the  corridor/ 

They  were  all  silent  for  a  space. 
'Where  do  you  intend  to  go?'  Solomin  asked 
again,  dropping  his  voice. 

*  We  don't  know,'  answered  Marianna. 
Solomin  turned  his  eyes  upon  Nezhdanov. 

The  latter  merely  shook  his  head  negatively. 

Solomin  stretched  out  his  hand  and  carefully 
snuffed  the  candle. 

*  I  tell  you  what,  my  children,'  he  said  at  last, 

*  come  to  my  factory.  It 's  nasty  there  .  .  .  but 
very  safe.  I  will  hide  you.  I  have  a  little 
room  there.  No  one  will  find  you  out.  You 
need  only  get  there  .  .  .  and  we  won't  give  you 
up.  You  will  say,  "  There  are  a  lot  of  people 
at  the  factory."  That's  a  very  good  thing. 
Where  there  are  a  lot  of  people  it's  easy  to 
hide.     Will  that  do,  eh  ? ' 

*  We  can  only  thank  you,'  said  Nezhdanov ; 
while  Marianna,  who  had  at  first  been  taken 
aback  by  the  idea  of  the  factory,  added  quickly: 

*  Of  course,  of  course.  How  good  you  are !  But 
you  won't  leave  us  there  long,  I  suppose  ?  You 
will  send  us  on  ?  ' 

*  That  will  depend  on  you.  .  .  .  But  in  case 
you  meant  to  get  married,  it  would  be  very 

71 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

convenient  for  you  at  the  factory.  Close  by 
I  've  a  neighbour  there — he  *s  a  cousin  of  mine 
— a  parish  priest,  by  name  Zosim,  very  amen- 
able. He  would  marry  you  with  all  the  pleasure 
in  life.' 

Marianna  smiled  to  herself,  while  Nezhdanov 
once  more  pressed  Solomin's  hand,  and  after 
a  moment's  pause  inquired,  *  But,  I  say,  won't 
your  employer,  the  owner  of  the  factory,  have 
anything  to  say  about  it  ?  Won't  he  make  it 
unpleasant  for  you  ? ' 

Solomin  looked  askance  at  Nezhdanov. 

'  Don't  worry  about  me.  .  .  .  That 's  quite  a 
waste  of  time.  As  long  as  the  factory  goes  all 
right,  it's  all  one  to  my  employer.  Neither 
you  nor  your  dear  young  lady  have  any  un- 
pleasantness to  fear  from  him.  And  the  work- 
men will  be  no  danger  to  you.  Only  let  me 
know  beforehand.  About  what  time  am  I  to 
expect  you  ? ' 

Nezhdanov  and  Marianna  looked  at  one 
another. 

'The  day  after  to-morrow,  early  in  the  morn- 
ing, or  the  day  after  that,'  Nezhdanov  said  at 
last.  *  We  can't  put  it  off  any  longer.  It 's  as 
likely  as  not  they  '11  turn  me  out  of  the  house 
to-morrow.' 

*  All  right  .  .  .*  assented  Solomin,  and  he  got 
up  from  his  chair.  '  I  will  look  out  for  you 
72 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

every  morning.  And,  indeed,  I  shan't  be  away 
from  home  all  the  week.  Every  step  shall  be 
taken  in  due  course/ 

Marianna  drew  near  him  (she  was  on  her 
way  to  the  door).  *  Good-bye,  dear,  kind 
Vassily  Fedotitch  .  .  .  that  is  your  name, 
isn't  it?' 

*Yes.' 

*  Good-bye  ...  at  least,  till  we  meet,  and 
thanks — thank  you  ! ' 

*  Good-bye.  .  .  .  Good  night,  dear  child.' 
*And    good-bye,    Nezhdanov,    till    to-mor- 
row .  .  .'  she  added. 

Marianna  went  out  quickly. 
Both  the  young  men  remained  for  some  time 
without  moving,  and  both  were  silent. 

*  Nezhdanov  .  .  .'  Solomin  began  at  last,  and 
he   broke   off.     'Nezhdanov,'  he  began   again, 

*  tell  me  about  this  girl  .  .  .  what  you  can  tell 
me.  What  has  her  life  been  up  till  now?  .  ,  • 
Who  is  she  ?  .  .  ,  and  how  does  she  come  to  be 
here?' 

Nezhdanov  told  Solomin  briefly  what  he 
knew. 

*  Nezhdanov,*   he   began   again   at   last  .  .  . 

*  you  ought  to  take  care  of  that  girl ;  for  .  .  . 
if  anything  .  .  .  were  to  happen  .  .  .  you  would 
be  very  much  to  blame.     Good-bye.' 

He  went  away,  and  Nezhdanov  stood  still 
73 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

for  a  while  in  the  middle  of  the  room ;  then 
muttering,  *Ah!  it's  better  not  to  think/  he 
flung  himself  face  downwards  on  the  bed. 

When  Marianna  got  back  to  her  room,  she 
found  on  the  table  a  small  note,  which  ran 
as  follows :  'I  am  sorry  for  you.  You  are 
going  to  your  ruin.  Think  what  you  are 
doing.  Into  what  abyss  are  you  flinging  your- 
self with  your  eyes  shut  ? — for  whom,  and  for 
what?— V.' 

There  was  a  peculiar  delicate  fresh  scent  in 
the  room;  it  was  clear  that  Valentina  Mihalovna 
had  only  just  gone  out  of  it.  Marianna  took  a 
pen,  and,  writing  underneath,  '  Don't  pity  me. 
God  knows  which  of  us  two  is  most  in  need  of 
pity.  I  only  know  I  would  not  be  in  your 
place. — M.,'  she  left  the  note  on  the  table.  She 
had  no  doubt  that  her  answer  would  fall  into 
Valentina  Mihalovna's  hands. 

The  next  morning  Solomin,  after  seeing 
Nezhdanov,  and  absolutely  declining  to  under- 
take the  management  of  Sipyagin's  factory, 
set  ofl*  homewards.  He  mused  all  the  way 
home,  a  thing  which  very  seldom  occurred 
with  him  ;  the  motion  of  the  carriage  usually 
lulled  him  into  a  light  sleep.  He  thought  of 
Marianna  and  also  of  Nezhdanov.  He  fancied 
that  if  he  had  been  in  love,  he — Solomin — he 
would  have  had  quite  a  different  face,  that  he 
74 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

would  have  talked  and  looked  quite  differently. 
*But,'  he  reflected,  'since  that  has  never  hap- 
pened to  me,  I  can't  tell,  of  course,  what  I 
should  look  like  if  it  did.'  He  remembered  an 
Irish  girl  whom  he  had  once  seen  in  a  shop 
behind  the  counter ;  he  remembered  what  won- 
derful, almost  black,  hair  she  had,  her  blue 
eyes  and  thick  lashes,  and  how  she  had  looked 
sadly  and  wistfully  at  him,  and  how  long  after- 
wards he  had  walked  up  and  down  the  street 
before  her  windows,  how  excited  he  had 
been,  and  how  he  had  kept  asking  himself, 
should  he  make  her  acquaintance  or  not  ?  He 
was  then  staying  in  London.  His  employer 
had  sent  him  there  with  a  sum  of  money  to 
make  purchases  for  him.  Solomin  had  been 
on  the  point  of  stopping  on  in  London,  of 
sending  the  money  back  to  his  employer,  so 
strong  was  the  impression  made  on  him  by  the 
lovely  Polly.  .  .  .  (He  had  found  out  her  name; 
one  of  the  other  shopgirls  had  addressed  her 
by  it.)  He  had  mastered  himself,  however,  and 
went  back  to  his  employer.  Polly  had  been  far 
more  beautiful  than  Marianna,  but  this  girl  had 
the  same  sad,  wistful  look  in  her  eyes  .  .  .  and 
she  was  a  Russian.  ... 

*  But  what  am  I  thinking  about  ? '  said  Solo- 
min, half  aloud, 'bothering  my  head  about  other 
men's  sweethearts ! '  and  he  gave  a  shake  to  the 
7S 


VIRGIN   SOIL 


collar  of  his  coat  as  though  wishing  to  shake 
off  all  unnecessary  ideas ;  and  juet  then  he 
drove  up  to  the  factory  and  caught  a  glimpse 
of  the  figure  of  the  faithful  Pavel  in  the  door- 
way of  his  little  lodge. 


76 


XXVI 

Solomin's  refusal  greatly  offended  Sipyagin — 
so  much  so  that  he  suddenly  arrived  at  the 
opinion  that  this  home-bred  Stevenson  was  not 
such  a  remarkable  mechanician  after  all,  and 
that,  though  he  might  very  likely  not  be  a 
complete  sham,  he  certainly  gave  himself  airs 
like  a  regular  plebeian.  *  All  these  Russians, 
when  they  imagine  they  know  a  thing,  are  be- 
yond everything.  Au  fond  Kallomyetsev  is 
right.'  Under  the  influence  of  such  irritated 
and  malignant  sensations,  the  statesman — en 
herbe — was  even  more  unsympathetic  and  dis- 
tant when  he  looked  at  Nezhdanov.  He 
informed  Kolya  that  he  need  not  work  with 
his  tutor  to-day — that  he  must  form  a  habit  of 
self-reliance.  .  .  .  He  did  not,  however,  give 
the  tutor  himself  his  dismissal,  as  the  latter 
had  expected;  he  continued  to  ignore  him. 
But  Valentina  Mihalovna  did  not  ignore  Mari- 
anna.  A  terrible  scene  took  place  between 
them. 

n 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

At  about  two  o'clock  they  happened  some- 
how to  be  suddenly  left  alone  together  in  the 
drawing-room.  Each  of  them  was  immediately 
aware  that  the  moment  of  the  inevitable  con- 
flict had  come,  and  so,  after  a  momentary 
hesitation,  they  gradually  approached  each 
other.  Valentina  Mihalovna  was  faintly  smil- 
ing, Marianna's  lips  were  compressed;  they  were 
both  pale.  As  she  moved  across  the  room, 
Valentina  Mihalovna  looked  to  right  and  to  left 
and  picked  a  leaf  of  geranium  .  .  .  Marianna's 
eyes  were  fixed  directly  upon  the  smiling  face 
approaching  her. 

Madame  Sipyagin  was  the  first  to  stop,  and, 
drumming  with  her  finger-tips  on  the  back  of 
the  chair :  *  Marianna  Vikentyevna,'  she  said 
in  a  careless  voice,  *  we  have,  I  think,  entered 
upon  a  correspondence  with  one  another.  .  .  . 
Living  under  one  roof  as  we  do,  that  is  rather 
odd,  and  you  are  aware  that  I  am  not  fond  of 
oddities  of  any  sort/ 

*It  was  not  I  began  that  correspondence, 
Valentina  Mihalovna.' 

*  No.  .  .  .  You  are  right.  I  am  to  blame  for 
the  oddity  this  time  ;  but  I  could  find  no  other 
means  to  arouse  in  you  a  feeling  of  ,  .  .  how 
shall  I  say?  ...  a  feeling  of ' 

*  Speak  out,  Valentina  Mihalovna;  don't 
mince  matters— don't  be  afraid  of  offending  me/ 

75 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

*  A  feeling  ...  of  propriety/ 

Valentina  Mihalovna  paused ;  nothing  but 
the  light  tap  of  her  fingers  on  the  chair-back 
could  be  heard  in  the  room. 

'  How  do  you  consider  I  have  been  careless 
of  propriety  ? '  asked  Marianna. 

Valentina  Mihalovna  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

^  Ma  chere,vous  n'etes  plus  une  enfant ^2Л\6.  you 
understand  me  perfectly.  Can  you  suppose 
your  behaviour  could  remain  a  secret  to  me,  to 
Anna  Zaharovna,  to  the  whole  household,  in 
fact  ?  Besides,  you  have  not  taken  much  pains 
to  keep  it  a  secret.  You  have  simply  acted  in 
bravado.  Boris  Andreitch  alone  has,  perhaps, 
not  observed  it.  .  .  .  He  is  absorbed  in  other 
matters  of  more  interest  and  importance.  But, 
except  for  him,  your  conduct  is  known  to  all 
—all ! ' 

Marianna  grew  steadily  paler  and  paler. 

*  I  would  ask  you,  Valentina  Mihalovna,  to 
be  more  definite  in  your  expressions.  With 
what  precisely  are  you  displeased  ?  ' 

"■  L'insolente ! '  thought  Madame  Sipyagin. 
She  still  restrained  herself,  however. 

'You  wish  to  know  what  I  am  displeased 
about,  Marianna?  Certainly.  I  am  displeased 
at  your  prolonged  interviews  with  a  young 
man  who  by  birth,  by  education,  and  by  social 
position  is  far  beneath  you.  I  am  displeased 
79 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

...  no !  that  word  is  not  strong  enough — I  am 
revolted  by  your  late  .  .  .  your  midnight  visits 
to  that  young  man's  room.  And  that  under  my 
roof!  Do  you  suppose  that  that  is  quite  as  it 
should  be,  and  that  I  am  to  be  silent,  and,  as  it 
were,  screen  your  flightiness?  As  a  virtuous 
woman  of  irreproachable  character  .  .  .  Oui^ 
mademoiselle^  je  Гаг  ete,  je  le  suis,  et  le  serai 
toujours — I  cannot  help  feeling  indignant' 

Valentina  Mihalovna  flung  herself  into  an 
arm-chair  as  though  crushed  by  the  weight 
of  her  indignation. 

Marianna  smiled  for  the  first  time. 

*  I  do  not  doubt  your  virtue,  past,  present, 
and  future,'  she  began,  '  and  I  say  so  quite  sin- 
cerely ;  but  your  indignation  is  needless ;  I 
have  brought  no  disgrace  on  your  roof  The 
young  man  to  whom  you  allude  .  .  .  yes,  I 
certainly  .  .  .  have  come  to  love  him.  .  .  .' 

*You  love  Monsieur  Nezhdanov?' 

*  Yes,  I  love  him.' 

Valentina  Mihalovna  sat  up  in  her  chair. 

*Good  gracious, Marianna!  why,he's  a  student, 
of  no  birth,  no  family — why,  he's  younger 
than  you  are ! '  (There  was  a  certain  spiteful 
pleasure  in  the  utterance  of  these  words.) 
'  What  can  come  of  it  ?  and  what  can  you, 
with  your  intellect,  find  in  him  ?  He 's  simply 
a  shallow  boy.' 

80 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

'That  was  not  always  your  opinion  of  him, 
Valentina  Mihalovna/ 

*  Oh,  mercy  on  us,  my  dear,  let  me  alone.  .  .  . 
Pas  tant  (Г esprit  que  ga,je  vous prie.  It  is  you 
we  are  discussing — you  and  your  future.  Fancy ! 
what  sort  of  a  match  is  it  for  you  ?  * 

*  I  must  confess,  Valentina  Mihalovna,  1  had 
not  thought  of  it  in  that  light* 

'Eh?  What?  What  am  I  to  understand 
by  that?  You  have  followed  the  dictates  of 
your  heart,  we  are  to  suppose.  .  .  .  But  all  that 
is  bound  to  end  in  marriage,  isn't  it  ? ' 

*  I  don't  know.  ...  I  have  not  thought  about 
that.' 

'You  have  not  thought  about  that?  Why, 
you  must  be  mad  ! ' 

Marianna  turned  slightly  away. 

*Let  us  make  an  end  of  this  conversation, 
Valentina  Mihalovna.  It  can  lead  to  nothing. 
We  shall  never  understand  one  another.' 

Valentina  Mihalovna  got  up  impulsively. 

*  I  cannot,  I  ought  not  to  make  an  end  of 
this  conversation  !  It  is  too  important.  ...  I 
have  to  answer  for  you  to  .  .  .'  Valentina 
Mihalovna  had  meant  to  say  4o  God,'  but 
she  faltered,  and  said,  4o  the  whole  world.  I 
cannot  be  silent  when  I  hear  such  senselessness! 
And  why  cannot  I  ui\dcrstanci -you  ?  The  in- 
sufferable conceit  of^thg^'  youftgupeople  !     No ! 

VOL.  II.  /^  ^y'^^'^^<^  '•  F 

Уряо'-'Е-^ту\Сд\ 


Д    LIBRARY   J  ^j      I  H  Ъ^  S 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

...  I  understand  you  very  well ;  I  can  see 
that  you  are  infected  with  these  new  ideas 
which  will  inevitably  lead  you  to  your  ruin ! 
but  then  it  will  be  too  late.' 

*  Perhaps ;  but  you  may  rest  assured  of  one 
thing :  even  in  my  ruin,  I  shall  never  hold  out 
a  finger  to  you  for  aid.' 

*  Conceit  again,  this  awful  conceit !  Come, 
listen  to  me,  Marianna,  listen  to  me,'  she  went 
on,  suddenly  changing  her  tone.  .  .  .  She  was 
on  the  point  of  drawing  Marianna  to  her,  but 
Marianna  stepped  back  a  pace.     '■  Ecoiitez-nwi^ 

je  vous  en  conjure.  After  all,  you  know  I  am 
not  so  old  and  not  so  stupid  that  it's  impossible 
for  us  to  understand  each  other.  Je  ne  suis pas 
une  encroutee.  I  was  even  regarded  as  a  repub- 
lican in  my  young  days  .  .  .  just  as  you  are. 
Listen  to  me.  I  will  not  affect  what  I  don't  feel. 
I  have  never  felt  a  mother's  tenderness  for  you, 
and  it's  not  in  your  character  to  complain  of 
that  .  .  .  but  I  have  recognised  and  I  do  re- 
cognise that  I  have  duties  in  regard  to  you, 
and  I  have  always  tried  to  perform  them. 
Perhaps  the  match  I  dreamed  of  for  you,  and 
for  which  Boris  Andreitch  and  I,  both  of  us, 
would  have  been  ready  to  make  any  sacrifices 
,  .  .  that  suitor  did  not  fully  answer  to  your 

ideas  .  .  .  but  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart * 

Marianna  looked   at  Valentina   Mihalovna 
82 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

at  the  wonderful  eyes,  at  the  pink,  faintly 
touched-up  lips,  at  the  white  hands,  with  the 
slightly  parted  fingers  adorned  with  rings,  which 
the  elegant  lady  was  pressing  so  expressively 
to  the  bodice  of  her  silk  gown, — and  suddenly 
she  cut  her  short. 

*  A  match,  do  you  say,  Valentina  Mihalovna  ? 
Do  you  mean  by  a  "match"  that  heartless,  vulgar 
friend  of  yours,  Mr.  Kallomyetsev  ? ' 

Valentina  Mihalovna  took  her  fingers  from 
her  bodice. 

*Yes,  Marianna  Vikentyevna,  I  mean  Mr. 
Kallomyetsev — that  cultivated,  excellent  young 
man,  who  will  certainly  make  a  wife  happy,  and 
whom  no  one  but  a  madwoman  could  refuse — 
no  one  but  a  madwoman  ! ' 

'What's  to  be  done,  ma  tante'i  It  would 
seem  I  am  one.' 

*  But  what  fault — what  serious  fault — do  you 
find  with  him  ?' 

*  Oh,  none  at  all.    I  despise  him  .  .  .  that's  all.' 
Valentina  Mihalovna  shook  her  head  from 

side  to  side  impatiently,  and  again  sank  into  an 
arm-chair. 

*■  Let  him  be.  Retournons  d  nos  moiitons.  And 
so  you  love  Mr.  Nezhdanov  t ' 

*Yes.' 

*  And  you  intend  to  continue  .  .  .  your  inter- 
views with  him  ? ' 

83 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

*Yes,  I  intend  to.' 

*  Well  ...  and  if  I  forbid  you  to?' 
'  I  sha'n't  listen  to  you/ 

Valentina  Mihalovna  bounded  up  in  her 
chair. 

'  Oh,  you  won't  listen  to  me  !  Oh,  indeed  ! 
And  that's  said  to  me  by  the  girl  I  have  loaded 
with  benefits,  whom  I  have  cared  for  in  my  own 
house — that  is  what's  said  to  me  ...  is  said 
to  me  .  .  .' 

'  By  the  daughter  of  a  disgraced  father,' 
Marianna  put  in  gloomily.  'Go  on ;  don't 
mince  matters.' 

'  Ce  n'est  pas  moi  qui  vous  le  fais  dire, 
mademoiselle;  but,  any  way,  there's  nothing 
to  be  proud  of  in  that.  A  girl  who  lives  at 
my  expense ' 

*  Don't  taunt  me  with  that,  Valentina  Mihal- 
ovna! It  would  cost  you  more  to  keep  a 
French  governess  for  Kolya.  .  .  .  You  know 
I  give  him  French  lessons.' 

Valentina  Mihalovna  raised  a  hand  holding  a 
cambric  handkerchief  scented  with  ylang-ylang 
and  embroidered  with  a  huge  white  monogram 
in  one  corner,  and  tried  to  make  some  retort, 
but  Marianna  went  on  vehemently : 

'You  would  have  every  right  a  thousand  times 
over,  every  right  to  speak  if,  instead  of  all  you 
have  just  been  reckoning  up,  instead  of  all  these 
84 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

pretended  benefits  and  sacrifices,  you  were  in  a 
position  to  say,  "the  girl  I  have  loved."  .  .  . 
But  you  are  too  honest  to  tell  such  a  lie  as 
that.'  Marianna  was  shaking  as  if  she  were  in 
a  fever.  *  You  have  always  hated  me.  At  this 
very  moment,  at  the  bottom  of  your  heart,  as 
you  said  just  now,  you  are  glad — yes,  glad — 
that  I  am  justifying  your  constant  predictions, 
that  I  am  covering  myself  with  scandal,  with 
disgrace ;  all  that  you  mind  is  that  part  of  the 
disgrace  may  fall  on  your  aristocratic,  virtuous 
household.' 

*You  are  insulting  me,'  faltered  Valentina 
Mihalovna.     *  Kindly  leave  the  room.' 

But  Marianna  could  not  control  herself. 

'  Your  household,  you  say,  all  your  household 
and  Anna  Zaharovna  and  all  know  of  my 
conduct !  and  they  are  all  horrified  and  in- 
dignant. .  .  .  But  do  you  suppose  I  ask  any- 
thing of  you,  or  them,  or  any  of  these  people  ? 
Do  you  suppose  I  prize  their  good  opinion? 
Do  you  think  the  living  at  your  expense,  as 
you  call  it,  has  been  sweet?  I  would  prefer 
any  poverty  to  this  luxury.  Don't  you  see  that 
between  your  household  and  me  there's  a  perfect 
gulf,  a  gulf  that  nothing  can  conceal  ?  Can  you 
— you're  a  clever  woman,  too — fail  to  realise 
that?  And  if  you  feel  hatred  for  me,  can't 
you  understand  the  feeling  I  must  have  for 
85 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

you,  which  I  don't  particularise,  simply  because 
it  is  too  obvious  ? ' 

^  Sortez^  sorteZy  vous  dis-je!  .  .  /  repeated 
Valentina  Mihalovna,  and  she  stamped  with 
her  pretty,  slender  little  foot. 

Marianna  took  a  step  in  the  direction  of  the 
door. 

*  I  will  rid  you  of  my  presence  directly  ;  but  do 
you  know  what,  Valentina  Mihalovna  ?  They 
say  that  even  in  Rachel's  mouth  in  Racine's 
Bajazet  that  *  Sortez  I '  was  not  effective,  and 
you  are  far  behind  her !  And  something  more, 
what  was  it  you  said  ?  "/<?  suis  une  honnete 
fe?nme,  je  Vai  ///,  et  le  serai  toujours!^  Only 
fancy,  I  am  convinced  I  'm  a  great  deal  honester 
than  you  !     Good-bye  ! ' 

Marianna  went  out  hurriedly,  while  Valen- 
tina Mihalovna  leaped  up  from  her  chair  ;  she 
wanted  to  shriek,  she  wanted  to  cry.  .  .  .  But 
what  to  shriek  she  did  not  know  ;  and  tears  did 
not  come  at  her  bidding. 

She  had  to  be  content  with  fanning  herself 
with  her  handkerchief;  but  the  scent  with 
which  it  was  saturated  affected  her  nerves  still 
more.  She  felt  unhappy,  insulted.  She  was 
conscious  of  a  grain  of  truth  in  what  she  had 
just  heard.  But  how  could  any  one  judge  her 
so  unjustly?  *Can  I  be  such  a  spiteful  crea- 
ture?' she  thought,  and  she  looked  at  herself 
86 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

in  the  looking-glass,  which  happened  to  be 
straight  before  her  between  two  windows. 
The  looking-glass  reflected  a  charming  face, 
somewhat  discomposed,  with  patches  of  red 
coming  out  upon  it,  but  still  a  fascinating  face, 
exquisite,  soft,  velvety  eyes.  .  .  .  '  I  ?  I  spite- 
ful ? '  she  thought  again.  ...  *  With  eyes  like 
those  ? ' 

But  at  that  instant  her  husband  came  in,  and 
she  hid  her  face  in  her  handkerchief  again. 

*  What  is  wrong  with  you  ? '  he  inquired 
anxiously.  '  What  is  it,  Valya  ?  '  (He  had  in- 
vented that  pet  name,  though  he  never  allowed 
himself  to  use  it  except  in  absolute  tete-a-tete, 
by  preference  in  the  country.) 

At  first  she  was  reticent,  declared  there  was 
nothing  wrong,  but  ended  by  turning  round 
in  her  chair,  in  a  very  graceful  and  touching 
way,  and  flinging  her  arms  round  his  shoulders 
(he  was  standing  bending  over  her),  hiding 
her  face  in  the  open  front  of  his  waistcoat,  and 
telling  him  everything  ;  without  any  hypocrisy 
or  hidden  motive,  she  tried,  if  not  to  excuse,  at 
least  to  some  extent  to  justify  Marianna ;  she 
threw  all  the  blame  on  her  youth,  her  passionate 
temperament,  and  the  defects  of  her  early  edu- 
cation ;  she  also,  to  some  extent,  and  also  with 
no  double  motive,  blamed  herself  *  With  my 
daughter,  this  would  never  have  happened ! 
87 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

I  should  have  looked  after  her  very  differently ! ' 
Sipyagin  heard  her  out  with  indulgence,  sym- 
pathy, and  serenity ;  he  kept  his  stooping 
posture  since  she  did  not  take  her  arms  from  his 
shoulders,  and  did  not  remove  her  head  ;  he 
called  her  an  angel,  kissed  her  on  the  forehead, 
announced  that  he  saw  now  the  course  of  action 
dictated  to  him  by  his  position,  the  position  of 
the  head  of  the  house,  and  withdrew  with  the 
gait  of  a  man  of  humane  but  energetic  charac- 
ter, who  has  to  make  up  his  mind  to  perform  an 
unpleasant  but  inevitable  duty. 

About  eight  o'clock,  after  dinner,  Nezhdanov 
was  sitting  in  his  room  writing  to  his  friend 
Silin  :  *  Dear  Vladimir,  I  am  writing  to  you  at 
the  moment  of  a  vital  change  in  my  existence. 
I  have  been  dismissed  from  this  house.  I  am 
going  away.  But  that  would  be  nothing.  I 
am  going  from  here  not  alone.  The  girl  I  have 
written  to  you  about  accompanies  me.  We 
are  bound  together  by  the  similarity  of  our 
fate  in  life,  the  identity  of  our  views  and 
efforts,  by  our  mutual  feeling  too.  We  love 
each  other ;  at  least,  I  believe  I  am  not 
capable  of  feeling  the  passion  of  love  in  any 
other  form  than  that  in  which  it  presents  itself 
to  me  now.  But  I  should  be  lying  to  you  if  I 
said  I  had  no  secret  feeling  of  terror,  even  a 
sort  of  strange  sinking  at  heart.  The  future  is 
88 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

all  dark,  and  we  are  pushing  forward  together 
into  this  darkness.  I  need  not  explain  to  you 
what  it  is  we  are  going  into,  and  what  work  we 
have  chosen.  Marianna  and  I  are  not  in  search 
of  happiness  ;  we  don't  want  to  enjoy  ourselves, 
but  to  struggle  on  together,  side  by  side,  sup- 
porting each  other.  Our  aim  is  clear  to  us  ; 
but  what  ways  will  lead  up  to  it,  we  do  not 
know.  Shall  we  find,  if  not  sympathy  and  help, 
at  least  freedom  to  work?  Marianna  is  a 
splendid,  honest  girl ;  if  it  is  decreed  that 
we  perish,  I  shall  not  reproach  myself  for 
having  led  her  to  ruin,  for  there  is  no  other  life 
possible  to  her  now.  But  Vladimir,  Vladimir ! 
my  heart  is  heavy.  I  am  tortured  by  doubt, 
not  of  my  feeling  for  her,  of  course,  but  ...  I 
don't  know.  Anyhow,  it 's  too  late  to  turn  back. 
Stretch  out  a  hand  to  us  both  from  afar,  and 
wish  us  patience,  power  of  self-sacrifice,  and 
love  .  .  .  more  love.  And  yc,  unknown  of 
us,  but  loved  by  us  with  all  our  being,  every 
drop  of  our  heart's  blood,  Russian  people,  re- 
ceive us  not  too  coldly,  and  teach  us  what  we 
are  to  expect  from  you !  Farewell,  Vladimir, 
farewell ! ' 

After  writing  these  few  lines,  Nezhdanov  set 

off  to  the  village.     The  next  night,  the  dawn 

was  hardly  breaking  in  the  sky  when  he  stood 

on  the  outskirts  of  the  birch  wood  at  no  great 

89 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

distance  from  Sipyagin's  garden.  A  little  behind 
him,  a  little  peasant's  cart,  harnessed  to  a  pair 
of  unbridled  horses,  could  be  seen  behind  the 
tangled  green  of  a  broad  hazel-bush ;  in  the 
cart,  under  the  seat  of  plaited  cord,  a  little  grey- 
headed old  peasant  lay  asleep  on  a  bundle  of 
hay,  with  his  head  on  a  patched  overcoat. 
Nezhdanov  kept  incessantly  looking  towards 
the  road,  towards  the  clump  of  willows  at  the 
garden's  edge ;  the  grey  stillness  of  night  still 
hung  over  everything,  the  tiny  stars  strove 
feebly  to  outshine  each  other,  lost  in  the 
waste  depths  of  the  sky.  Along  the  rounded 
lower  edges  of  the  stretching  clouds  ran  a  pale 
flush  from  the  east;  thence  too  came  the  first  chill 
breath  of  early  morning.  Suddenly  Nezhdanov 
started  and  was  all  alert ;  somewhere  near  at 
hand  there  was  first  the  shrill  creak,  then  the 
thump  of  a  gate ;  a  little  feminine  figure  wrapped 
in  a  shawl,  with  a  bundle  in  its  bare  hand, 
stepped  with  a  deliberate  movement  out  of  the 
still  shadows  of  the  willows  on  to  the  soft  dust 
of  the  road,  and  crossing  it  in  a  slanting 
direction,  apparently  on  tiptoe,  turned  towards 
the  copse.     Nezhdanov  rushed  up  to  it. 

*  Marianna  ? '  he  whispered. 

*  It 's  I ! '  came  a  soft  reply  from  under  the 
overhanging  shawl. 

'  This  way,  follow  me,'  responded  Nezhdanov, 
90 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

clutching  her  awkwardly  by  the  bare  hand  that 

held  the  bundle. 

She  shrank  up  as  if  she  felt  chilled  by  the 
frost.  He  led  her  to  the  cart,  and  waked  up  the 
peasant.  The  latter  jumped  up  quickly,  clam- 
bered promptly  on  to  the  driver's  seat,  slipped 
the  great-coat  on  to  his  sleeves,  and  caught  up 
the  cords  that  served  for  reins.  The  horses 
shook  themselves ;  he  cautiously  encouraged 
them  in  a  voice  still  hoarse  from  his  heavy 
sleep.  Nezhdanov  made  Marianna  sit  down  on 
the  cord  seat  of  the  cart,  first  spreading  his 
cloak  on  it ;  he  wrapped  her  feet  in  a  rug — the 
hay  at  the  bottom  of  the  cart  was  damp — placed 
himself  beside  her,  and,  bending  over  to  the 
peasant,  said  softly,  *  Drive  on  you  know  where.' 
The  peasant  gave  a  tug  to  the  reins,  the  horses 
came  out  of  the  thicket,  snorting  and  shaking 
themselves ;  and,  rattling  and  jolting  on  its 
narrow  old  wheels,  the  cart  rolled  along  the 
road.  Nezhdanov  put  one  arm  round  Mari- 
anna's  waist  to  support  her;  she  lifted  the 
shawl  a  little  with  her  cold  fingers,  and  turn- 
ing and  facing  him  with  a  smile,  she  said,  *  How 
deliciously  fresh  it  is,  Alyosha ! ' 

*Yes,'  answered  the  peasant,  Vthere'U  be  a 
heavy  dew ! ' 

There  was  already  such  a  heavy  dew  that  the 
axles  of  the  cart-wheels,  as  they  caught  in  the 
91 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

tops  of  the  tall  weeds  along  the  roadside, 
shook  off  whole  showers  of  delicate  drops  of 
water,  and  the  green  of  the  grass  looked  bluish- 
grey. 

Again  Marianna  shivered  from  the  cold. 

*  How  fresh,  how  fresh ! '  she  repeated  in  a 
light-hearted  voice.  'And  freedom,  Alyosha, 
freedom  I ' 


92 


XXVII 

SOLOMIN  ran  out  to  the  gates  of  the  factory 
directly  they  hurried  to  tell  him  that  a  gentle- 
man and  lady  had  arrived  in  a  little  cart,  and 
were  asking  for  him.  Without  saying  good- 
morning  to  his  visitors,  simply  nodding  his 
head  several  times  to  them,  he  at  once  told  the 
peasant  to  drive  into  the  yard,  and,  directing 
him  straight  up  to  his  little  lodge,  he  helped 
Marianna  out  of  the  cart.  Nezhdanov  leaped 
out  after  her.  Solomin  led  them  both  along  a 
little,  long,  dark  passage,  and  up  a  narrow 
winding  little  staircase,  in  the  back  part  of  the 
lodge,  to  the  second  story.  There  he  opened 
a  low  door,  and  they  all  three  went  into  a  small, 
fairly  clean  room  with  two  windows. 

'Welcome!'  said  Solomin,  with  his  never- 
failing  smile,  which  seemed  broader  and  brighter 
than  ever  to-day. 

*  Here  are  your  quarters,  this  room,  and  see 
here,  another  next  to  it.  Not  much  to  look  at, 
but  that's  no  matter;  one  can  live  in  them, 
93 


VIRGIN    SOIL 

and  there'll  be  no  one  here  to  spy  on  you. 
Here  under  the  window  you  have  what  the 
landlord  calls  a  flower-garden,  but  I  should  call 
it  a  kitchen-garden  ;  it  lies  right  up  against  the 
wall,  and  hedges  to  right  and  left.  A  quiet 
little  nook  it  is !  Well,  welcome  a  second 
time,  dear  young  lady,  and  you  too,  Nezhdanov, 
welcome !  * 

He  shook  hands  with  them  both.  They 
stood  motionless,  not  taking  off  their  wraps, 
and  with  silent,  half-bewildered,  half-delighted 
emotion  they  looked  straight  before  them. 

*  Well,  what  now  ? '  Solomin  began  again. 
'  Take  off  your  things  !  What  baggage  have 
you  got  ? ' 

Marianna  showed  the  bundle  which  she  was 
still  holding  in  her  hand. 

*  This  is  all  I  have.' 

*  And  my  trunk  and  bag  are  still  in  the  cart. 
But  I  '11  go  and  get  them  directly.' 

'Stand  still,  stand  still.'  Solomin  opened 
the  door.  *  Pavel ! '  he  shouted  into  the  dark- 
ness of  the  staircase,  *run  out,  mate.  There 
are  some  things  in  the  cart  .  .  .  bring  them  up.' 

*  Directly,'  they  heard  the  voice  of  the 
ubiquitous  Pavel. 

Solomin  turned  to  Marianna,  who  had  flung 
off  her  shawl  and  was  beginning  to  unbutton 
her  cloak. 

94 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

*  And  did  everything  go  off  successfully  ?  *  he 
inquired, 

*  Everything  ...  no  one  saw  us.  I  left  a 
letter  for  Mr.  Sipyagin.  I  didn't  take  any 
dresses  or  clothes  with  me,  Vassily  Fedotitch, 
because  as  you  are  going  to  send  us  .  .  .' 
(Marianna  for  some  reason  could  not  make  up 
her  mind  to  add  "  to  the  people "),  '  well,  any 
way,  they  'd  have  been  of  no  use.  But  I  have 
money  to  buy  what  is  necessary.' 

*  We  '11  arrange  all  that  later  .  .  .  and  here,* 
said  Solomin,  pointing  to  Pavel,  who  came  in 
with  Nezhdanov's  things,  '  I  commend  to 
you  my  best  friend  here ;  you  can  rely  on 
him  fully  ...  as  you  would  on  me.  Did  you 
speak  to  Tatyana  about  the  samovar?'  he 
added  in  an  undertone. 

*  It  '11  be  here  directly,'  answered  Pavel ;  *  and 
the  cream  and  everything.' 

*  Tatyana  is  his  wife,'  Solomin  went  on,  '  and 
she  is  just  as  trustworthy  as  he  is.  Until  you 
.  .  .  well  .  .  .  are  a  bit  used  to  it,  she  will 
wait  on  you,  my  dear  young  lady.' 

Marianna  flung  her  cloak  on  a  little  leather 
sofa  that  stood  in  the  corner.  '  Call  me 
Marianna,  Vassily  Fedotitch — I  don't  want  to 
be  a  young  lady.  And  I  don't  want  any  one  to 
wait  on  me.  ...  I  didn't  come  here  to  have 
servants.  Don't  look  at  my  dress;  I  had— 
95 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

over  there — nothing  else.  All  that  must  be 
changed.' 

The  dress,  of  fine  cinnamon-coloured  cloth, 
was  very  simple ;  but  cut  by  a  Petersburg 
dressmaker,  it  fell  in  elegant  folds  about 
Marianna's  waist  and  shoulders,  and  had 
altogether  a  fashionable  air. 

'  Well,  not  a  servant,  but  a  help,  perhaps,  in 
the  American  fashion.  And  you  must  have 
tea,  any  way.  It's  early  days  yet,  and  you 
must  both  be  tired.  I  am  going  off  now  to 
see  after  things  in  the  factory  ;  we  shall  meet 
again  later.  Tell  Pavel  or  Tatyana  whatever 
you  want.' 

Marianna  held  out  both  hands  quickly  to 
him. 

*  How  can  we  thank  you,  Vassily  Fedotitch  ?  ' 
She  looked  at  him  quite  moved. 

Solomin  softly  stroked  one  of  her  hands. 
*  I  should  say,  it 's  not  worth  thanking  for 
.  .  .  but  that  wouldn't  be  true.  I  'd  better 
say  that  your  thanks  give  me  immense  pleasure. 
So  we're  quits.  Good-bye  for  the  present! 
Pavel,  come  along.' 

Marianna  and  Nezhdanov  were  left  alone. 

She  rushed  up  to  him,  and,  looking  at  him 

with    just    the   same   expression   as   she  had 

looked    at    Solomin,    only    with    even    more 

delight,    more    emotion    and    gladness,    *0h, 

96 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

my  dear !  *  she  said  ...  *  We  are  beginning  a 
new  life.  ...  At  last !  at  last !  You  wouldn't 
believe  how  charming  and  delightful  this  poor 
little  lodging  where  we  are  only  to  spend 
a  few  days  seems  to  me  compared  with  that 
loathsome  mansion !  Tell  me  are  you  glad, 
dear  ? ' 

Nezhdanov  took  her  hands  and  pressed  them 
to  his  heart. 

'  I  am  happy,  Marianna,  that  I  am  begin- 
ning this  new  life  with  you !  You  will  be  my 
guiding  star,  dear,  my  support,  my  strength.  .  .  .' 

*  Dearest  Alyosha!  But  stay.  I  want  to 
wash  a  little  and  make  myself  tidy.  I  '11  go 
to  my  own  room  .  .  .  and  you,  stay  here. 
One  minute.  .  .  .* 

Marianna  went  off  into  the  other  room,  shut 
herself  in,  and  a  minute  later  half-opened  the 
door,  put  her  head  in,  and  said,  '  And  oh ! 
isn't  Solomin  nice ! '  Then  she  shut  the  door 
again,  and  the  key  clicked  in  the  lock. 

Nezhdanov  went  up  to  the  window,  and 
looked  out  into  the  little  garden  .  .  .  one  old, 
very  old  apple-tree  for  some  reason  riveted 
his  attention  especially.  He  shook  himself, 
stretched,  began  opening  his  trunk,  and  took 
nothing  out  of  it ;  he  fell  to  musing.  .  .  . 

In  a  quarter  of  an  hour  Marianna  returned 
with  a  beaming,  freshly  washed  face,  all  gaiety 
VOL.  II,  97  G 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

and  alertness ;  and  a  few  instants  later  Pavel's 
wife,  Tatyana,  appeared  with  the  samovar,  the 
tea-tray,  rolls  and  cream. 

In  striking  contrast  to  her  gypsylike  hus- 
band, she  was  a  typical  Russian  woman,  stout, 
with  a  flaxen  head,  with  a  big  knob  of  hair 
tightly  twisted  round  a  horn  comb,  and  no  cap, 
with  thick  but  pleasant  features,  and  very  good- 
natured  grey  eyes.  She  was  dressed  in  a  tidy 
though  faded  chintz  gown ;  her  hands  were 
clean  and  well-shaped,  though  large  ;  she  bowed 
tranquilly,  and  with  a  firm,  precise  intonation, 
without  any  sort  of  affectation,  she  articulated, 
'  A  very  good  health  to  you,'  and  set  to  work 
to  lay  the  samovar  and  the  tea  things. 

Marianna  went  up  to  her. 

*  Let  me  help  you,  Tatyana.  Only  give  me 
a  napkin.' 

'  No  need,  miss,  we  're  used  to  it.  Vassily 
Fedotitch  has  talked  to  me.  If  anything 's 
wanted,  kindly  ask  for  it ;  we  will  do  what 
we  can  with  all  the  pleasure  in  life.' 

*  Tatyana,  please  don't  call  me  miss.  .  .  . 
I  'm  dressed  like  a  lady,  but  still  I  'm  .  .  .  I  'm 
quite  .  .  .' 

The  steady  gaze  of  Tatyana's  keen  eyes 
disconcerted  Marianna ;  she  broke  off. 

*  And  what  then  is  it  you  will  be  ? '  Tatyana 
asked  in  her  composed  voice. 

98 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

'I  am  certainly,  if  you  like  ...  I  am  a 
lady  by  birth ;  only  I  want  to  get  rid  of  all 
that,  and  to  become  like  all  .  ,  .  like  all  simple 
women/ 

'  Ah,  so  that 's  it !  Well,  now  I  understand. 
You're  one  of  them,  I  suppose,  that  want  to 
be  simplified.  There  are  a  good  few  of  them 
about  nowadays.' 

*  What  did  you  say,  Tatyana  ?  To  be  simpli- 
fied?' 

'Yes  .  .  .  that's  the  word  that's  come  up 
among  us  now.  To  be  on  a  level  with  simple 
folks,  it  means — simplification.  To  be  sure,  it 
is  a  good  work — to  teach  the  peasants  good 
sense.  Only  it's  a  difficult  job!  Oy,  oy, 
di-ifficult !     God  give  you  good  speed  !  * 

*  Simplification  ! '  repeated  Marianna.  *  Do 
you  hear,  Alyosha  ?  you  and  I  are  simplified 
creatures  now ! ' 

Nezhdanov  laughed,  and  even  repeated : 

*  Simplified  creatures  ! ' 

'And  what  will  he  be  to  you — your  good 
man  or  your  brother  ? '  asked  Tatyana,  care- 
fully washing  the  cups  with  her  large  deft 
hands,  as  she  looked  with  a  kindly  smile  from 
Nezhdanov  to  Marianna. 

*  No,'  answered  Marianna,  '  he 's  not  my 
husband  and  not  my  brother.' 

Tatyana  raised  her  head. 
99 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

'Then  I  suppose  you  are  living  in  free  grace. 
Nowadays  that  too  is  pretty  often  to  be  met 
with.  It  used  to  be  more  the  way  among  the 
dissenters,  but  nowadays  it 's  found  among 
other  folks  too.  Where  there  's  God's  blessing, 
one  may  live  in  peace  !  And  there 's  no  need 
of  the  parson  for  that.  In  our  factory  there 
are  some  live  like  that  too.  Not  the  worst 
chaps  either.' 

*What  nice  things  you  say,  Tatyana!  .  .  . 
"In  free  grace."  ...  I  like  that  very  much. 
I'll  tell  you  what  I  want  to  ask  of  you, 
Tatyana.  I  want  to  make  myself,  or  to  buy, 
a  dress  like  yours,  or  rather  commoner  per- 
haps. And  shoes  and  stockings  and  a  kerchief, 
everything  just  as  you  have.  I  have  money 
enough  to  get  them.' 

*  To  be  sure,  miss,  we  can  manage  all  that. 
.  .  .  There,  I  won't,  don't  be  cross.  I  won't 
call  you  miss.     Only  what  am  I  to  call  you  ? ' 

*  Marianna.' 

*  And  what  are  you  named  from  your  father  ?  * 
'But  why  do  you  want  my  father's  name? 

Call  me  simply  Marianna.  The  same  as  J 
call  you  Tatyana.' 

'  That 's  the  same,  and  not  the  same.  You  'd 
better  tell  me.' 

*Very  well,  then.  My  father's  name  was 
Vikent ;  and  what  was  your  father's  ? ' 

100 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

*  Mine  was  Oslp.' 

*  Well,  then,  I  shall  call  you  Tatyana  Osip- 
ovna.' 

*  And  I  '11  call  you  Marianna  Vikentyevna: 
That  will  be  capital ! ' 

'Won't  you  drink  a  cup  of  tea  with  us, 
Tatyana  Osipovna  ? ' 

*  At  this  first  acquaintance  I  might,  Marianna 
Vikentyevna.  I  '11  treat  myself  to  a  small  cup, 
though  Yegoritch  will  scold.' 

*  Who  's  Yegoritch  ? ' 

*  Pavel,  my  husband.' 

*  Sit  down,  Tatyana  Osipovna/ 

*  Indeed  and  I  will,  Marianna  Vikentyevna.' 
Tatyana  seated  herself  on  a  chair  and  began 

to  sip  her  tea  through  a  piece  of  sugar.  She 
continually  turned  the  lump  of  sugar  round  in 
her  fingers,  screwing  up  her  eye  on  the  side 
on  which  she  was  nibbling  the  sugar.  Marianna 
got  into  conversation  with  her.  Tatyana 
answered  without  obsequiousness,  and  asked 
her  questions  and  told  her  various  things  of 
her  own  accord.  Solomin  she  almost  wor- 
shipped, but  her  husband  she  put  only  second 
to  Vassily  Fedotitch.  She  was  sick  of  factory 
life,  though. 

*  You  've  neither  the  town  here  nor  the 
country  ...  if  it  weren't  for  Vassily  Fedotitch 
I  wouldn't  stay  another  hour.' 

lOI 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

Marianna  listened  attentively  to  her  talk 
Nezhdanov,  sitting  a  little  on  one  side, 
watched  his  girl  friend,  and  was  not  surprised 
at  her  interest ;  for  Marianna,  it  was  all  a 
novelty,  but  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  had 
seen  hundreds  of  similar  Tatyanas,  and  had 
talked  to  them  hundreds  of  times. 

'Do  you  know,  Tatyana  Osipovna,'  said 
Marianna  at  last,  *  you  think  we  want  to  teach 
the  people ;  no,  we  want  to  serve  them.' 

'  How  serve  them  ?  Teach  them  ;  that 's  the 
best  service  you  can  do  them.  Take  me,  for 
example.  When  I  was  married  to  Yegoritch, 
neither  read  nor  write  could  I ;  but  now  I  Ve 
learned,  thanks  to  Vassily  Fedotitch.  He  didn't 
teach  me  himself,  but  he  paid  an  old  man  to. 
And  he  taught  me.  You  see  I  'm  young  still, 
for  all  I  'm  a  woman  grown.' 

Marianna  was  silent  for  a  little. 

'  I  should  like,  Tatyana  Osipovna,'  she  began 
again, '  to  learn  some  trade  ...  we  must  have 
a  talk  about  that.  I  sew  very  badly ;  if  I 
were  to  learn  to  cook,  I  might  become  a  cook.' 

Tatyana  pondered. 

*  Why  be  a  cook  ?  Cooks  are  in  rich  men's 
houses,  or  merchants' ;  poor  people  do  their 
own  cooking.  And  to  cook  for  a  union,  for 
workmen.     Well,  that 's  quite  the  last  thing ! ' 

'  But   I    might  live  in  a   rich   man's   house 

I02 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

though,  and  make  friends  with  poor  people. 
Or  how  am  I  to  get  to  know  them  ?  I  sha'n't 
always  have  such  luck  as  with  you/ 

Tatyana  turned  her  empty  cup  upside  down 
in  the  saucer. 

*  It 's  a  difficult  business,'  she  observed  at 
last  with  a  sigh,  4t  can't  be  settled  off-hand. 
I  '11  show  you  all  I  know,  but  I  'm  not  clever 
at  much.  We  must  talk  it  over  with  Yegor- 
itch.  He  's  such  a  man  !  He  reads  books  of 
all  sorts,  and  he  can  see  through  anything  in 
the  twinkling  of  an  eye.'  Here  she  glanced  at 
Marianna,  who  was  rolling  up  a  cigarette.  .  .  . 

*  And  there  's  something  I  would  say  to  you, 
Marianna  Vikentyevna,  if  you'll  excuse  me; 
but  if  you  really  want  to  be  simplified,  you  '11 
have  to  give  that  up.*  She  pointed  to  the 
cigarette.  'For  in  such  callings  as  a  cook's, 
for  instance,  that  would  never  pass ;  and  every 
one  would  see  at  once  that  you  're  a  young 
lady.     Yes.' 

Marianna  flung  the  cigarette  out  of  the 
window. 

'  I  won't  smoke  ...  it 's  easy  to  get  out  of 
the  way  of  it.  Women  of  the  people  don't 
smoke,  so  I  ought  not  to  smoke.' 

*  That 's  a  true  word  you  've  said,  Marianna 
Vikentyevna.  The  male  sex  treat  themselves 
to  it  even  among  us ;  but  the  female — no. . . . 

103 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

Ah  !  and  here  's  Vassily  Fedotitch  himself 
coming  up.  That 's  his  step.  You  ask  him ; 
he'll  settle  everything  for  you  in  the  best 
way  1' 

She  was  right ;  Solomin's  voice  was  heard  at 
the  door. 

*  May  I  come  in  ? ' 

*  Come  in,  come  in/  called  Marianna. 
'That's    an    English   habit   of    mine/   said 

Solomin  as  he  came  in.  *  Well,  how  do  you 
feel?  You  aren't  dull  yet?  I  see  you're 
having  tea  here  with  Tatyana.  You  listen  to 
her  ;  she  's  a  sensible  person.  .  .  .  But  my 
employer  has  turned  up  to  see  me  to-day  .  .  . 
when  he  's  not  wanted  at  all !  And  he  '11  stay 
to  dinner.  There 's  no  help  for  it !  He 's  the 
master.' 

*  What  sort  of  man  is  he  ? '  asked  Nezhdanov, 
coming  out  of  his  corner. 

*  Oh,  he 's  all  right.  ...  He  has  his  eyes 
about  him.  One  of  the  newer  generation. 
Very  affable,  and  wears  cuffs,  but  pries  into 
everything  not  a  bit  less  than  the  old  sort. 
He  'd  skin  a  flint  with  his  own  hands  and  say, 
"  Turn  a  bit  to  this  side,  if  you  '11  be  so  good  ; 
there 's  still  a  living  spot  here  ...  I  must 
give  it  a  scouring!"  Well,  with  me  he's  as 
soft  as  silk  ;  I  'm  necessary  to  him  !  Only 
I  've  come  to  tell  you  that  I  'm  not  likely  to 

104 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

manage  to  see  you  to-day.  They  will  bring 
you  your  dinner.  And  don't  show  yourselves 
in  the  yard.  What  do  you  think,  Marianna — 
will  the  Sipyagins  search  for  you  ?  will  they 
make  a  hunt  ? ' 

*  I  think  they  won't/  answered  Marianna. 
*But  I  am  sure  they  will/  said  Nezhdanov. 

*  Well,  any  way/  pursued  Solomin, '  you  must 
be  careful  at  first.  Later  on  you  can  do  as  you 
like.' 

*  Yes  ;  only  there 's  one  thing/  observed 
Nezhdanov :  '  Markelov  must  know  of  my 
whereabouts  ;  he  must  be  told.' 

'Why?' 

*  It  can't  be  helped  ;  for  the  cause.  He  has 
always  to  know  where  I  am.  It 's  a  promise. 
But  he  won't  blab  ! ' 

*  Very  well.     We  '11  send  Pavel.' 

*And  will  there  be  a  dress  ready  for  me?' 
asked  Nezhdanov. 

*  Your  get-up,  you  mean  ?  to  be  sure  ...  to 
be  sure.  It's  quite  a  masquerade.  Not  an  ex- 
pensive one,  thank  goodness.  Good-bye  ;  you 
must  have  a  rest.     Tatyana,  come  along.' 

Marianna  and  Nezhdanov  were  again  left 
alone. 


105 


XXVIII 

First  they  clasped  each  other's  hands  again  ; 
then  Marianna  cried,  *  Come,  I  '11  help  you 
arrange  your  room,'  and  she  began  unpacking 
his  things  from  the  trunk  and  the  bag.  Nezh- 
danov  would  have  helped  her,  but  she  declared 
she  was  going  to  do  it  all  alone. 

*  Because  I  must  get  used  to  making  myself 
useful'  And  she  did  in  fact  hang  up  his  coat 
on  nails  which  she  found  in  the  table  drawer, 
and  knocked  into  the  wall,  unaided,  with  the 
back  of  a  brush  for  want  of  a  hammer ;  the 
linen  she  laid  in  a  little  old  chest  which  stood 
between  the  windows. 

'What's  this?'  she  asked  suddenly;  *a 
revolver?  Is  it  loaded?  What  do  you  want 
with  it  ? ' 

*  It's  not  loaded  . . .  but  give  it  here,  though. 
You  ask  what  I  want  with  it  ?  How  is  one  to 
get  on  without  a  revolver  in  our  calling?' 

She   laughed  and  went   on   with   her  task, 
shaking  out  each  thing  separately  and  beating 
1 06 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

it  With  her  hand  ;  she  even  set  two  pairs  of 
boots  under  the  sofa;  while  the  few  books,  a 
bundle  of  papers,  and  the  little  manuscript  book 
of  verses  she  arranged  in  triumph  on  a  three- 
legged  corner-table,  saying  it  was  to  be  the 
writing-  and  work-table,  while  the  other  round 
table  she  called  the  dinner-  and  tea-table.  Then 
taking  the  book  of  verses  in  both  hands,  she 
raised  it  to  a  level  with  her  face,  and  looking 
over  its  edge  at  Nezhdanov,  she  said  with  a 
smile,  *  We  '11  read  all  this  through  together 
some  time  when  we  're  not  busy,  won't  we  ? — 
eh?' 

*  Give  me  that  book !  I  '11  burn  it ! '  cried 
Nezhdanov.     '  It 's  worth  nothing  better.' 

*  Why  did  you  bring  it  with  you,  if  so?  No, 
no,  I  'm  not  going  to  give  it  you  to  be  burnt. 
Though  they  say  authors  always  make  that 
threat,  but  never  do  burn  their  things.  But 
any  way,  I  'd  better  carry  it  off ! ' 

Nezhdanov  tried  to  protest,  but  Marianna 
ran  into  the  next  room  with  the  manuscript 
book  and  returned  without  it. 

She  sat  down  close  to  Nezhdanov,  and  in- 
stantly got  up  again.  '  You  haven't  been  .  .  . 
in  my  room  yet.  Would  you  like  to  see  it  ? 
It 's  as  nice  as  yours.     Come,  I  '11  show  you.' 

Nezhdanov  got  up  too  and  followed  Marianna. 
Her  room,  as  she  called  it,  was  a  little  smaller 
107 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

than  his  room  ;  but  the  furniture  in  it  seemed 
rather  newer  and  cleaner  ;  in  the  window  stood 
a  glass  vase  of  flowers,  and  in  the  corner  a  little 
iron  bedstead. 

*  See  how  sweet  of  Solomin!'  cried  Marianna; 
*  only  one  mustn't  let  oneself  be  too  much 
spoilt ;  we  shan't  often  meet  with  such  quarters. 
And  what  I  think  is,  what  would  be  nice  would 
be  to  arrange  things  so  that  whatever  place  we 
have  to  go  to  we  could  go  both  together,  without 
parting.  It  will  be  difficult,'  she  added  after  a 
short  pause  ;  *  well,  we  '11  think  of  it.  Any  way, 
I  suppose  you  won't  go  back  to  Petersburg?' 

'What  should  I  do  in  Petersburg?  Go  to 
the  university  and  give  lessons  ?  That  would 
be  of  no  use  now.' 

*  We  '11  see  what  Solomin  says,'  observed 
Marianna ;  '  he  11  best  decide  how  and  what 
to  do.' 

They  went  back  to  the  first  room  and  again 
sat  down  beside  each  other.  They  spoke  with 
praise  of  Solomin,  Tatyana,  and  Pavel ;  they 
mentioned  Sipyagin,  and  said  how  their  old 
life  seemed  suddenly  so  far  away  from  them,  it 
seemed  lost  in  a  cloud ;  then  they  pressed  each 
other's  hands  again,  and  exchanged  glances  of 
delight ;  then  they  talked  of  what  sort  of  people 
they  ought  to  try  to  do  propaganda  among,  and 
how  they  must  behave  not  to  be  suspected. 
io8 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

Nezhdanov  maintained  that  the  less  they 
thought  about  that,  the  more  simply  they 
behaved,  the  better. 

*  Of  course  ! '  cried  Marianna.  *  Why,  we 
want  to  be  simplified,  as  Tatyana  says.' 

*  I  didn't  mean  in  that  sense,'  Nezhdanov  was 
beginning.  '  I  meant  to  say  that  we  ought 
not  to  be  constrained ' 

Suddenly  Marianna  laughed. 

*I  remembered,  Alyosha,  how  I  called  us 
both  "  simplified  creatures  " ! ' 

Nezhdanov  smiled  too,  repeated  *  simplified,* 
and  then  sank  into  thought. 

Marianna,  too,  was  thoughtful. 

*  Alyosha  ! '  she  said. 
*What?' 

*  I  think  we  both  feel  a  little  awkward. 
Young  people,  des  nouveaux  marih!  she  ex- 
plained, 'the  first  day  of  their  honeymoon 
must  feel  something  of  the  sort.  They  are 
happy  .  .  .  they  are  very  content,  and  a  little 
awkward.' 

Nezhdanov  smiled — a  forced  smile. 

*  You  know  very  well,  Marianna,  that  we  are 
not  a  young  couple  in  that  sense.' 

Marianna  got  up  and  stood  directly  facing 
Nezhdanov. 

'  That  depends  on  you.' 
'How?' 

109 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

'Alyosha,  you  know  that  when  you  tell  me 
as  an  honest  man — and  I  shall  believe  you,  for 
you  really  are  an  honest  man — when  you  tell 
me  that  you  love  me  with  that  love  .  .  .  well, 
that  love  that  gives  one  a  right  to  another 
person's  life, — ;when  you  tell  me  that,  I  am 
yours.' 

Nezhdanov  blushed  and  turned  a  little  away. 

'When  I  tell  you  that  .  .  : 

*  Yes,  then !  But  you  see  yourself  you  do 
not  tell  me  so  now.  .  .  ,  Oh,  yes,  Alyosha,  you 
certainly  are  an  honest  man.  There,  let  us  talk 
of  matters  of  more  importance.' 

*  But  you  know  I  love  you,  Marianna ! ' 

*  I  don't  doubt  that  .  .  .  and  I  shall  wait. 
There,  I  've  not  quite  put  your  writing-table  to 
rights  yet.  Here 's  something  still  wrapped  up, 
something  stiff.' 

Nezhdanov  jumped  up  from  his  chair 

*Let   that   be,   Marianna.  .  .  .      Please  .  .  . 

leave  that  alone.' 

Marianna  turned  her  head  over  her  shoulder 

to  look  at  him,  and  raised   her  eyebrows  in 

amazement. 

*  Is  it  a  mystery?  A  secret?  You  have  a 
secret  ? ' 

'  Yes  .  .  .  yes,*  said  Nezhdanov,  and  greatly 
disconcerted  he  added,  by  way  of  explanation, 
'It's  ...  a  portrait' 

no 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

This  word  fell  from  him  unconsciously.  In 
the  paper  Marianna  held  in  her  hands  there 
was  wrapped  up,  in  reality,  her  portrait,  given 
to  Nezhdanov  by  Markelov. 

*A  portrait?'  she  articulated  in  a  voice  of 
surprise.  ...    *  A  woman's  ? ' 

She  gave  him  the  little  parcel,  but  he  took  it 
awkwardly ;  it  almost  slipped  out  of  his  hands 
and  fell  open. 

*  Why,  it 's  .  .  .  my  portrait ! '  cried  Marianna 
quickly.  '  Well,  I  Ve  a  right  to  take  my  own 
portrait'     She  took  it  from  Nezhdanov. 

*  Did  you  sketch  this  ?  * 

*  No  ...  not  I.' 

*  Who,  then  ?     Markelov  ? ' 

*  You  've  guessed.  ...  It  was  he.' 
'  How  did  you  come  by  it?* 

*  He  gave  it  to  me.' 
'  When  ? ' 

Nezhdanov  told  her  how  and  when  it  had 
been  given.  Whilst  he  was  speaking,  Marianna 
glanced  first  at  him  and  then  at  the  portrait 
.  .  .  and  the  same  thought  flashed  through 
the  heads  of  both :  *  If  ^^  were  in  this  room, 
he  would  have  the  right  to  ask.*  .  .  .  But 
neither  Marianna  nor  Nezhdanov  uttered  this 
thought  aloud  .  .  .  possibly  because  each  of 
them  was  conscious  of  the  thought  in  the 
other. 

Ill 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

Marianna  softly  wrapped  the  portrait  in  the 
paper  again,  and  laid  it  on  the  table. 

*  He 's  a  good  man ! '  she  murmured.  .  .  . 
'  Where  is  he  now  ? ' 

'  Where  ?  ...  At  home.  I  am  going  to  see 
him  to-morrow  or  next  day  to  get  books  and 
pamphlets.  He  meant  to  give  them  to  me, 
but  I  suppose  he  forgot  it  when  I  was  leaving.* 

*  And  do  you  think,  Alyosha,  that  in  giving 
you  the  portrait  he  renounced  everything  .  .  . 
absolutely  everything  ? ' 

*  I  thought  so.' 

*  And  you  hope  to  find  him  at  home  ? ' 

*  Of  course.' 

*  Ah  ! ' — Marianna  lowered  her  eyes  and 
dropped  her  hands.  *  And  here 's  Tatyana 
bringing  us  our  dinner,'  she  cried  suddenly. 
'  What  a  splendid  woman  she  is  ! ' 

Tatyana  appeared  with  knives  and  forks, 
table-napkins,  and  plates  and  dishes.  While 
she  was  laying  the  table  she  told  them  what 
had  been  passing  in  the  factory. 

*  The  master  came  from  Moscow  by  rail,  and 
he  set  to  running  from  floor  to  floor  like  one 
possessed ;  to  be  sure,  he  knows  nothing  about 
things,  he  only  does  like  that  for  show,  to  keep  up 
appearances.  But  Vassily  Fedotitch  treats  him 
like  a  babe  in  arms.  The  master  thought  he  'd 
say  something  nasty  to  him,  so  Vassily  Fedot- 


VIRGIN   SOIL. 

itch  suppressed  him  at  once  :  *  I  *11  throw  it  all 
up  directly/  says  he,  so  our  gentleman  pretty 
soon  changed  his  tune.  Now  they  're  dining 
together  ;  and  the  master  brought  a  companion 
with  him.  .  .  .  And  he  does  nought  else  but 
admire  everything.  And  a  moneyed  man  he 
must  be,  this  companion,  to  judge  from  the 
way  he  holds  his  tongue  and  shakes  his  head. 
And  he 's  stout  too,  very  stout !  A  regular 
Moscow  swell !  Ah,  it 's  a  true  saying  :  "  It 's 
downhill  to  Moscow  from  all  parts  of  Russia; 
everything  rolls  down  to  her." ' 

'  How  you  do  notice  everything !  *  cried 
Marianna. 

'  Yes,  I  'm  pretty  observant,*  replied  Tatyana. 
*  Come,  your  dinner  's  ready.  And  may  it  do 
you  good.  I  '11  sit  here  a  little  bit,  and  watch 
you.' 

Marianna  and  Nezhdanov  sat  down  to  dinner; 
Tatyana  leaned  against  the  window-sill  and 
rested  her  cheek  in  her  hand. 

*  I  watch  you,'  she  repeated  ...  *  and  what 
poor  young  tender  things  you  both  are !  .  .  . 
It 's  so  pleasant  to  see  you  that  it  quite  makes 
my  heart  ache  !  Ah,  my  dears  !  you  're  taking 
up  a  burden  beyond  your  strength  !  It 's  such 
as  you  that  the  inspectors  of  the  Tsar  are  ever 
eager  to  clap  in  custody ! ' 

'  Nonsense,  my  good  soul,  don't  frighten  us/ 

VOL.  II.  113  H 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

observed  Nezhdanov.  *  You  know  the  saying  i 
"  If  you  choose  to  be  a  mushroom,  you  must  go 
in  the  basket  with  the  rest." ' 

*  I  know  ...  I  know ;  but  the  baskets  now- 
adays are  so  narrow  and  hard  to  creep  out 
of!' 

'  Have  you  any  children  ? '  Marianna  asked, 
to  change  the  conversation. 

'Yes;  a  son.  He  begins  to  go  to  school. 
I  had  a  little  girl  too  ;  but  she  's  no  more,  poor 
darling  !  She  met  with  an  accident ;  fell  under 
a  wheel.  And  if  only  it  had  killed  her  at  once  ! 
But  no,  she  lingered  in  suffering  a  long  while. 
Since  then  I  Ve  grown  tender-hearted ;  before 
then  I  was  as  hard  as  a  tree ! ' 

*  Why,  what  of  your  man  Pavel  Yegoritch  ? 
didn't  you  love  him  ? ' 

*  Eh  !  that  was  a  different  matter  ;  the  feeling 
of  a  girl.  And  how  about  you,  now — do  you 
love  your  man  ? ' 

*Yes.' 

*Very  much?' 

*  Yes.' 

*  Yes  ?  .  .  .'  Tatyana  looked  at  Nezhdanov, 
then  at  Marianna,  and  said  no  more. 

It  was  again  Marianna's  lot  to  change  the 
conversation.     She  told  Tatyana  she  had  given 
up  smoking  ;  the  latter  approved  of  her  resolu- 
tion.     Then  Marianna  asked  her  again  about 
114 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

clothes ;  and  reminded  her  she  had  promised  to 
show  her  how  to  cook.  .  .  . 

*  Oh,  and  one  thing  more  :  could  you  get  me 
some  stout,  coarse  yarn  ?  I  'm  going  to  knit 
myself  some  stockings  .  .  .  plain  ones/ 

Tatyana  answered  that  everything  should  be 
done  in  due  course,  and,  clearing  the  table,  she 
went  out  of  the  room  with  her  calm,  resolute 
gait 

'Well,  what  shall  we  do  now?'  Marianna 
said,  turning  to  Nezhdanov;  and  without  letting 
him  answer,  '  What  do  you  say  ?  since  our 
real  work  only  begins  to-morrow,  shall  we 
devote  this  evening  to  literature  ?  Let 's  read 
your  poems  !     I  shall  be  a  severe  critic* 

For  a  long  while  Nezhdanov  would  not  con- 
sent. .  .  .  He  ended,  however,  by  giving  in, 
and  began  to  read  out  of  his  manuscript  book. 
Marianna  sat  close  beside  him,  and  watched 
his  face  while  he  was  reading.  She  had  spoken 
truly ;  she  turned  out  to  be  a  severe  critic. 
Few  of  the  verses  pleased  her ;  she  preferred 
the  purely  lyrical,  short  ones,  that  were,  as  she 
expressed  it,  non-didactic.  Nezhdanov  did  not 
read  quite  well;  he  had  not  the  courage  to 
attempt  elocution,  and  at  the  same  time  was 
unwilling  to  fall  into  quite  a  colourless  tone ; 
the  result  was  neither  one  thing  nor  the  other. 
Marianna  suddenly  interrupted  him  with  the 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

question,  Did  he  know  a  wonderful  poem  of 
Dobrolyubov's  beginning,  'Let  me  die — small 
cause  for  grief?  ^  and  thereupon  read  it  to  him 
— also  not  very  well — in  a  rather  childish 
manner. 

Nezhdanov  observed  that  it  was  bitter  and 
painful  to  the  last  degree,  and  then  added 
that  he,  Nezhdanov,  could  never  have  written 
such  a  poem,  because  he  had  no  reason  to  be 
afraid  of  tears  over  his  grave  .  ,  .  there  would 
be  none. 

*  There  will  be,  if  I  outlive  you,'  Marianna 
articulated  slowly  ;  and  raising  her  eyes  to  the 

^  And  let  me  die — small  cause  for  grief ; 
One  thought  alone  frets  my  sick  mind  ; 
That  death  may  chance  to  play 
An  unkind  jest  with  me. 

I  dread  lest  over  my  cold  corpse 
The  scalding  tears  should  flow  ; 
And  lest  some  one  with  stupid  zeal 
Lay  flowers  upon  my  bier  ; 

Lest  flocking  round  in  unfeigned  grief. 
My  friends  walk  after  it  to  the  grave  ; 
Lest  as  I  lie  under  the  earth, 
I  may  become  one  loved  and  prized  ; 

Lest  all  so  eagerly  desired, 
And  so  in  vain  by  me — in  life, 
May  smile  on  me  consolingly 
Above  the  stone  that  marks  my  grave. 

DoBR.,  Works,  vol.  iv,  p.  615, 

1X6 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

ceiling,  after  a  brief  silence,  in  an  undertone  as 
though  speaking  to  herself,  she  queried,  '  How 
ever  did  he  draw  a  portrait  of  me?  From 
memory  ?  * 

Nezhdanov  turned  quickly  to  her.  .  .  . 

*  Yes,  from  memory.' 

Marianna  was  amazed  at  his  answering.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  she  had  merely  thought  the 
question. 

*  It  is  astonishing  .  .  .'  she  went  on  in  the 
same  subdued  voice  ;  *  why,  he  has  no  talent  for 
drawing.  What  was  I  going  to  say?'  she 
resumed  aloud  ;  *oh,  about  Dobrolyubov's 
poem.  One  ought  to  write  poems  like  Push- 
kin's, or  such  as  that  one  of  Dobrolyubov's : 
this  is  not  poetry  .  .  .  though  it 's  something 
as  good.' 

*And  poems  like  mine,'  said  Nezhdanov, 
*  ought  not  to  be  written  at  all  ?     Eh  ? ' 

'Poems  like  yours  please  your  friends  not 
because  they  are  very  fine,  but  because  you 
are  a  fine  person,  and  they  are  like  you.' 

Nezhdanov  smiled. 

*  You  have  buried  them,  and  me  with  them !  * 
Marianna  gave  him  a  slap  on  his  hand  and 

told  him  he  was  too  bad.  .  .  .  Soon  after  she 
announced  that  she  was  tired  and  was  going 
to  bed. 

*  By  the  way,  do  you  know,'  she  added,  shak« 

if7 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

ing  her  short,  thick  curls, '  I  've  got  one  hundred 
and  thirty-seven  roubles  ;  what  have  you  ? ' 

*  Ninety-eight.' 

*  Oh !  but  we  're  rich  ...  for  simplified 
creatures.     Well,  good-bye  till  to-morrow ! ' 

She  went  out ;  but  a  few  instants  later  her 
door  was  slightly  opened,  and  through  the 
narrow  crack  he  heard  first,  *  Good-bye ! '  then 
more  softly,  *  Good-bye ! '  and  the  key  clicked 
in  the  lock. 

Nezhdanov  sank  on  to  the  sofa  and  covered 
his  eyes  with  his  hand.  .  .  .  Then  he  got  up 
quickly,  went  up  to  the  door,  and  knocked. 

*  What  is  it  ? '  came  from  within. 

'Not  till  to-morrow,  Marianna  .  .  .  but  to- 
morrow ! ' 

'  To-morrow,'  responded  a  gentle  voice. 


ii8 


XXIX 

The  next  day  early  in  the  morning  Nezhdanov 
again  knocked  at  Marianna's  door. 

*  It 's  I/  he  said  in  answer  to  her  *  Who 's 
there  ? '     *  Can  you  come  out  to  me  ? ' 

*  Wait  a  minute  .  .  .  directly.' 

She  came  out,  and  uttered  a  cry  of  astonisn- 
ment.  For  the  first  minute  she  did  not  recog- 
nise him.  He  had  on  a  long  full-skirted  coat 
of  threadbare,  yellowish  nankin,  with  tiny 
buttons  and  a  high  waist ;  he  had  combed  his 
hair  in  the  Russian  style,  with  a  straight  part- 
ing in  the  middle  ;  his  neck  was  wrapped  in  a 
blue  kerchief;  in  his  hand  he  held  a  cap  with  a 
broken  peak  ;  on  his  feet  were  unpolished  high 
boots  of  calf  leather. 

*  Good  gracious!' cried  Marianna ;  *how  .  .  . 
horrid  you  look  ! '  and  thereupon  she  gave  him  a 
rapid  embrace,  and  a  still  more  rapid  kiss. 
*  But  why  are  you  dressed  like  that  ?  You  look 
like  a  poor  sort  of  shopkeeper  ...  or  a  pedlar, 
or  a  discharged  house-serf.  Why  that  coat 
with  skirts,  and  not  simply  a  peasant's  smock  ? ' 

119 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

*  That  *s  just  it/  began  Nezhdanov,  who  in 
his  get-up  did  really  resemble  a  pedlar,  and 
he  was  conscious  of  this  himself,  and  was  full 
of  vexation  and  embarrassment  at  heart ;  he 
was  so  much  embarrassed  that  he  kept  strik- 
ing himself  on  the  breast  with  the  outspread 
fingers  of  both  hands,  as  though  he  were  brush- 
ing himself. 

*  In  a  smock  I  should  have  been  recognised 
at  once,  so  Pavel  declared  ;  and  this  costume 
...  in  his  words  .  .  .  looked  as  though  I  'd 
never  had  any  other  dress  cut  for  me  in  my 
life !  Not  very  flattering  to  my  vanity,  I  may 
remark  in  parenthesis.' 

*  Do  you  really  mean  to  go  out  at  once  .  .  . 
to  begin?'  Marianna  inquired  with  keen  in- 
terest 

*  Yes  ;  I  shall  try,  though  ...  in  reality  .  .  .' 

*  Happy  fellow  ! '  interrupted  Marianna. 

*  This  Pavel  is  really  a  wonderful  man,* 
Nezhdanov  went  on ;  *  he  knows  everything, 
directly  he  sets  eyes  on  you  ;  and  then  all  of  a 
sudden  he  purses  up  his  face,  as  though  he 
were  outside  it  all, — and  wouldn't  meddle  in 
anything !  He  serves  the  cause  himself — and 
makes  fun  of  it  all  the  while.  He  brought  me 
the  pamphlets  from  Markelov  ;  he  knows  him 
and  speaks  of  him  as  Sergei  Mihalovitch.  But 
for  Solomin  he  'd  go  through  fire  and  water.' 

120 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

*  And  so  would  Tatyana/  observed  Marianna. 
*  Why  is  it  people  are  so  devoted  to  him  ? ' 

Nezhdanov  did  not  answer. 

*  What  sort  of  pamphlets  did  Pavel  bring 
you  ? '  asked  Marianna. 

*  Oh  !  the  usual  things.  "  The  Tale  of  Four 
Brothers,"  .  .  .  and  others  too  .  .  .  the  ordinary 
well-known  things.     However,  those  are  best' 

Marianna  looked  round  anxiously. 
'But  what  of  Tatyana?      She  promised  to 
come  so  early.* 

*  Here  she  is,'  said  Tatyana,  coming  into  the 
room  with  a  small  bundle  in  her  hand.  She 
was  standing  at  the  door,  and  had  heard 
Marianna's  exclamation. 

*  You  need  not  be  in  a  hurry ;  it 's  not  such  a 
treat  as  all  that.' 

Marianna  fairly  flew  to  meet  her. 

'  You  have  brought  it ! ' 

Tatyana  patted  the  bundle. 

'  Everything 's  here  .  .  .  fully  prepared.  .  .  . 
You  've  only  got  to  put  the  things  on  .  .  .  and 
go  out  in  your  finery  for  folks  to  admire  you.' 

*  Ah,  come  along,  come  along,  Tatyana  Osip- 
ovna,  dear.  .  .  .* 

Marianna  drew  her  into  her  room. 

Left  alone,  Nezhdanov  paced  twice  up  and 
down  with  a  peculiar  stealthy  gait.  .  .  .  (he 
imagined  for  some  reason  that  that  was  just 

121 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

how  small  shopkeepers  walked);  he  sniffed 
cautiously  at  his  own  sleeve,  and  the  lining 
of  his  cap — and  frowned  ;  he  looked  at  himself 
in  a  little  looking-glass  hanging  on  the  wall 
near  the  window,  and  shook  his  head ;  he  cer- 
tainly looked  very  unattractive.  *  All  the 
better,  though,'  he  thought.  Then  he  took  up 
a  few  pamphlets,  stuffed  them  in  his  skirt 
pocket,  and  murmured  a  few  words  to  himself 
in  the  accent  of  a  small  shopkeeper.  *  I  fancy 
that 's  like  it,'  he  thought  again  ;  '  but  after  all, 
what  need  of  acting  ?  my  get-up  will  answer  for 
me.*  And  at  that  point  Nezhdanov  recollected 
a  German  convict,  who  had  had  to  run  away 
right  across  Russia,  and  he  spoke  Russian 
badly,  too ;  but  thanks  to  a  merchant's  cap 
edged  with  cat's-skin,  which  he  had  bought  in 
a  provincial  town,  he  was  taken  everywhere  for 
a  merchant,  and  had  successfully  made  his  way 
over  the  frontier. 

At  that  instant  Solomin  came  in. 

'  Aha !  brother  Alexey,'  he  cried  ;  *  you  're 
studying  your  part !  Excuse  me,  brother  ;  in 
that  disguise  one  can't  address  you  respect- 
fully.' 

'  Oh,  please  do.  ...  I  'd  meant  to  ask  you 
to  call  me  so.' 

*  Only  it 's  awfully  early  yet ;  but,  there,  I 
suppose  you  want  to  get   used  to   it.     Well, 

122 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

then,  all  right.     But  you  '11  have  to  wait  a  bit ; 
the  master 's  not  gone  yet.     He 's  asleep.* 

*  I  '11  go  out  later  on,'  answered  Nezhdanov. 
*I'm  going  to  walk  about  the  neighbourhood 
till  I  get  instructions  of  some  sort.' 

'  That 's  right !  Only  I  tell  you  what,  brother 
Alexey  ...  I  may  call  you  Alexey,  then  ? ' 

*  'Lexey,  if  you  like,*  said  Nezhdanov, 
smiling. 

*  No ;  we  mustn't  overdo  it.  Listen  !  good 
counsel  is  better  than  money,  as  they  say.  I 
see  you  have  pamphlets  there ;  you  can  give 
them  to  whom  you  please — only  not  in  the 
factory ! ' 

'Why  not?* 

*  Because,  in  the  first  place,  it  would  be  risky 
for  you ;  secondly,  I  have  pledged  myself  to 
the  owner  that  there  shall  be  nothing  of  the 
sort  going  on — after  all,  the  factory 's  his,  you 
know  ;  and  thirdly,  we  have  something  started 
there — schools  and  so  on.  .  .  .  And — well — 
you  might  ruin  all  that.  Act  as  you  please,  as 
best  you  may — I  will  not  hinder  you  ;  but  don't 
touch  my  factory-hands.' 

'Caution  never  comes  amiss  .  .  .  hey?' 
Nezhdanov  remarked  with  a  malignant  half- 
smile. 

Solomin  smiled  his  own  broad  smile. 

*Just  so,  brother  Alexey;  it  never  comes 
123 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

amiss.     But  who  is  this  I   see?     Where  are 
we?' 

These  last  exclamations  referred  to  Marianna, 
who  appeared  in  the  doorway  of  her  room 
in  a  sprigged  chintz  gown,  that  had  seen 
many  washings,  with  a  yellow  'kerchief  on  her 
shoulders  and  a  red  one  on  her  head.  Tatyana 
was  peeping  out  from  behind  her  back,  in 
simple  and  kindly  admiration  of  her.  Marianna 
looked  both  fresher  and  younger  in  her  simple 
costume ;  it  suited  her  far  better  than  the  long 
full-skirted  coat  suited  Nezhdanov. 

*  Vassily  Fedotitch,  please  don't  laugh,'  Mari- 
anna entreated,  and  she  flushed  the  colour  of 
a  poppy. 

'  What  a  pretty  pair ! '  Tatyana  was  exclaim- 
ing, meanwhile  clapping  her  hands.  '  Only 
you,  my  dear  laddie,  don't  be  angry,  you're 
nice,  very  nice — but  beside  my  little  lass  here 
you  cut  no  figure  at  all.' 

*  And,  really,  she 's  exquisite,'  thought  Nezh- 
danov ;  '  oh !  how  I  love  her ! ' 

'And  look- ее/  went  on  Tatyana,  'she's 
changed  rings  with  me.  She's  given  me  her 
gold  one  and  taken  my  silver  one.' 

*  Girls  of  the  people  don't  wear  gold  rings,' 
said  Marianna. 

Tatyana  sighed. 

*  I  '11  take  care  of  it  for  you,  dearie,  never  fear.* 

124 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

*  Well,  sit  down  ;  sit  down,  both  of  you,' 
began  Solomin,  who  had  been  all  the  time 
watching  Marianna,  with  his  head  a  little  bent ; 
*  in  old  days  you  remember  folks  always  used 
to  sit  down  together  for  a  bit  when  they  were 
setting  off  on  their  road.  And  you  've  both  a 
long,  hard  road  before  you/ 

Marianna,  still  rosy  red,  sat  down ;  Nezh- 
danov  too  sat  down ;  Solomin  sat  down ;  and 
last  of  all  Tatyana  too  sat  down  on  a  thick  log 
of  wood  standing  on  end. 

Solomin  looked  at  all  of  them  in  turn  : 

*  Step  back  a  bit 
And  look  at  it, 
How  nicely  here  we  all  do  sit . . .' 

he  said,  slightly  screwing  up  his  eyes ;  and  all 
of  a  sudden  he  burst  out  laughing,  but  so  nicely 
that,  far  from  feeling  offended,  they  were  all 
delighted. 

But  Nezhdanov  suddenly  got  up. 

*  I  'm  off,'  he  said,  *  this  minute  ;  though  this 
is  all  very  delightful — only  a  trifle  like  a  farce 
with  dressing-up  in  it.  Don't  be  uneasy,'  he 
turned  to  Solomin  ;  *  I  won't  touch  your  factory- 
hands.  I  will  do  a  little  talking  about  the 
suburbs,  and  come  back,  and  I  '11  tell  you  all 
my  adventures,  Marianna,  if  only  there's  any- 
thing to  tell.  Give  me  your  hand  for  good 
luckr 

I2S 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

*A  cup  of  tea'd  be  as  well  first/  observed 
Tatyana. 

*  No  !  tea-drinking  indeed  !  If  I  want  any- 
thing I  '11  go  to  a  tavern  or  simply  a  gin- 
shop.' 

Tatyana  shook  her  head. 

*  Those  taverns  swarm  along  our  highroads 
nowadays  like  fleas  in  a  sheepskin.  The 
villages  are  all  so  big — why,  Balmasovo  .  .  .' 

*  Good-bye,  till  we  meet  .  .  .  may  I  leave 
good  luck  with  you ! '  Nezhdanov  added,  cor- 
recting himself  and  entering  into  his  part  as  a 
small  shopkeeper.  But  before  he  had  reached 
the  door,  Pavel  poked  his  head  in  from  the 
corridor  under  his  very  nose,  and  handing 
him  a  long  thin  staff,  peeled,  with  a  strip  of 
bark  running  round  it  like  a  screw,  he  said  : 
*  Please  take  it,  Alexey  Dmitritch  ;  lean  on  it 
as  you  walk  ;  and  the  further  you  hold  the 
stick  away  from  you  the  better  effect  it  will 
have.' 

Nezhdanov  took  the  staff  without  speaking 
and  went  off;  Pavel  followed  him.  Tatyana 
was  about  to  go  away  too  ;  Marianna  got  up 
and  stopped  her. 

*  Wait  a  little,  Tatyana  Osipovna ;  I  want 
you.' 

*  But  I  '11  be  back  in  a  minute  with  the  samo- 
var.   Your  comrade  went  off  without  any  tea, 

126 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

— he  was  in  such  a  desperate  hurry.  ,  .  .  But 
why  should  you  deny  yourself?  Later  on 
things  '11  be  clearer.' 

Tatyana  went  out ;  Solomin  too  rose.  Mari- 
anna  was  standing  with  her  back  to  him,  and 
when  she  did  at  last  turn  round  to  him — seeing 
that  for  a  very  long  time  he  had  not  uttered  a 
single  word — she  caught  in  his  face,  in  his  eyes 
which  were  fastened  upon  her,  an  expression 
she  had  never  seen  in  him  before,  an  expression 
of  inquiry,  of  anxiety,  almost  of  curiosity.  She 
was  disconcerted  and  blushed  again.  And 
Solomin  seemed  ashamed  of  what  she  had 
caught  sight  of  in  his  face,  and  he  began 
talking  louder  than  usual : 

'  Well,  well,  Marianna  .  .  »  here  you  Ve 
made  a  beginning.' 

*  A  fine  beginning,  Vassily  Fedotitch  !  How 
can  one  call  it  a  beginning?  I  feel  somehow 
very  stupid  all  of  a  sudden.  Alexey  was 
right ;  we  are  really  acting  a  sort  of  farce.' 

Solomin  sat  down  again  on  his  chair. 

'  But,  Marianna,  let  me  say  .  .  .  How  did 
you  picture  it  to  yourself — the  beginning  ?  It 's 
not  a  matter  of  building  barricades  with  a  flag 
over  them,  and  shouting  hurrah !  for  the  re- 
public !  And  that 's  not  a  woman's  work  either. 
But  you  now  to-day  will  start  training  some 
Lukerya  in  something  good,  and  it  '11  be  a  hard 
127 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

task  for  you,  as  Lukerya  won't  be  over  quick  of 
understanding,  and  she  '11  be  shy  of  you,  and 
will  fancy  too  that  what  you  're  trying  to  teach 
her  won't  be  of  the  least  use  to  her ;  and  in  a 
fortnight  or  three  weeks  you'll  be  struggling 
with  some  other  Lukerya,  and  meanwhile  you  '11 
be  washing  a  child  or  teaching  him  his  ABC, 
or  giving  medicine  to  a  sick  man  .  ,  .  that  will 
be  your  beginning.' 

*But  the  sisters  of  mercy  do  all  that,  you 
know,  Vassily  Fedotitch !  What  need,  then 
...  of  all  this  ? '  Marianna  pointed  to  herself 
and  round  about  her  with  a  vague  gesture.  *  I 
dreamt  of  something  else.' 

*  You  wanted  to  sacrifice  yourself?* 
Marianna's  eyes  glistened. 

*  Yes  .  .  .  yes  .  .  .  yes !  * 

*  And  Nezhdanov  ^ ' 
Marianna  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

*  What  of  Nezhdanov !  We  will  go  forward 
together  ...  or  I  will  go  alone.' 

Solomin  looked  intently  at  Marianna. 

*  Do  you  know  what,  Marianna  .  .  .  you 
will  excuse  the  unpleasantness  of  the  expres- 
sion .  .  .  but  to  my  idea,  combing  the  scurfy 
head  of  a  dirty  urchin  is  a  sacrifice,  and  a  great 
sacrifice,  of  which  not  many  people  are  capable.' 

'  But  I  would  not  refuse  to  do  that,  Vassily 
Fedotitch.' 

128 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

*  I  know  you  wouldn't !  Yes,  you  are  capable 
of  that.  And  that's  what  you  will  be  doing 
for  a  time  ;  and  afterwards,  maybe — something 
else  too.' 

'  But  to  do  that  I  must  learn  from  Tatyana ! ' 

*By  all  means  .  .  .  get  her  to  show  you. 
You  will  scour  pots,  and  pluck  chickens.  .  .  . 
And  so,  who  knows,  maybe  you  will  save  your 
country  ! ' 

'  You  are  laughing  at  me,  Vassily  Fedotitch.' 

Solomin  shook  his  head  slowly. 

'  О  my  sweet  Marianna !  believe  me,  I  am 
not  laughing  at  you  ;  and  my  words  are  the 
simple  truth.  You  now,  all  of  you,  Russian 
women,  are  more  capable,  and  loftier  too,  than 
we  men.' 

Marianna  raised  her  downcast  eyes. 

*  I  should  like  to  justify  your  expectations, 
Solomin  .  .  .  and  then — I  'm  ready  to  die ! ' 

Solomin  got  up. 

*  No,  live  .  .  .  live  !  That 's  the  great  thing. 
By  the  way,  don't  you  want  to  find  out  what  is 
taking  place  in  your  home  now,  as  regards  your 
flight?  Won't  they  take  steps  of  some  sort? 
We  need  only  drop  a  word  to  Pavel — he'll 
reconnoitre  in  no  time.' 

Marianna  was  surprised. 

*  What  an  extraordinary  man  he  is ! ' 

*  Yes   .   ,  .  he 's  rather  a  wonderful  fellow. 
VOL.  11.  129  I 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

For  instance,  when  you  want  to  celebrate  your 
marriage  with  Alexey — he  11  arrange  that  too 
with  Zosim.  .  .  .  You  remember  I  told  you 
there  was  a  priest.  .  .  .  But  I  suppose  there  's 
no  need  of  him  for  a  while  ?  No  ? ' 
*No.' 

*  No,  then/  Solomin  went  up  to  the  door 
that  separated  the  two  rooms — Nezhdanov's 
and  Marianna's — and  bent  down  over  the  lock. 

*  What  are  you  looking  at  there  ? '  asked 
Marianna. 

'  Does  it  lock  ?  * 

*  Yes,'  whispered  Marianna. 

Solomin  turned  to  her.  She  did  not  raise 
her  eyes. 

'  Then,  there  's  no  need  to  find  out  what  are 
Sipyagin's  intentions  ? '  he  observed  cheerfully  ; 
'  no  need,  eh  ?  * 

Solomin  was  about  to  go  away. 

'  Vassily  Fedotitch  .  .  .' 

'  What  is  it  ?  * 

'Tell  me,  please,  why  is  it  you,  who  are 
always  so  silent,  are  so  talkative  with  me? 
You  don't  know  how  much  it  pleases  me.* 

'  Why  is  it  ? ' — Solomin  took  both  her  little  soft 
hands  in  his  big  rough  ones — '  Why  ? — Well, 
it  must  be  because  I  like  you  so  much.  Good- 
bye.* 

He  went  out.  .  .  .  Marianna  stood  a  little, 
130 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

looked  after  him,  thought  a  little,  and  went  off 
to  Tatyana,  who  had  not  yet  brought  in  the 
samovar,  and  with  whom  she  did — it  is  true — 
drink  tea,  but  she  also  scoured  pots,  and  plucked 
chickens,  and  even  combed  out  the  tangled 
mane  of  a  small  boy. 

About  dinner-time  she  returned  to  her  little 
apartments.  .  .  .  She  had  not  long  to  wait  for 
Nezhdanov. 

He  returned,  weary  and  covered  with  dust, 
and  almost  fell  on  to  the  sofa.  She  at  once  sat 
down  beside  him.     *  Well  ?  well  ?     Tell  me  ! ' 

*  You  remember  those  two  lines,'  he  answered 
in  a  weak  voice  : 

*"  It  would  all  have  been  so  comic 
If  it  had  not  been  so  sad  "  ? 

Do  you  remember  ? ' 

*  Of  course  I  do.* 

'Well,  those  lines  apply  precisely  to  my 
first  expedition.  But  no!  There  was  posi- 
tively more  of  the  comic  in  it.  In  the  first 
place,  I  'm  convinced  that  nothing 's  easier  than 
to  play  a  part ;  no  one  dreamt  of  suspecting 
me.  But  there  was  one  thing  I  had  not  thought 
of — one  wants  to  make  up  some  sort  of  story 
beforehand  .  .  .  they  keep  asking  one — where 
you  're  from,  and  what  you  're  doing — and  you 
have  nothing  ready.  However,  even  that's 
131 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

hardly  necessary.  One 's  only  to  propose  a 
dram  of  vodka  at  the  gin-shop,  and  lie  away 
as  one  pleases.' 

'And  you  .  .  .  did  tell  lies?'  asked  Mari- 
anna. 

*  I  lied  .  .  .  the  best  I  could.  The  second 
point  is :  all,  absolutely  all  the  people  I  talked 
to  are  discontented ;  and  no  one  even  cares  to 
know  how  to  remedy  this  discontent !  But  at 
propaganda  I  seem  to  be  a  very  poor  hand ; 
two  pamphlets  I  simply  left  secretly  in  a  room 
— one  I  thrust  into  a  cart.  .  .  .  What  '11  come  of 
them  the  Lord  only  knows  !  I  offered  pamphlets 
to  four  men.  One  asked  was  it  a  religious  book, 
and  did  not  take  it ;  another  said  he  could 
not  read,  and  took  it  for  his  children  as  there 
was  a  woodcut  on  the  cover :  a  third  began  by 
agreeing  with  me.  "To  be  sure,  to  be  sure  . .  ." 
then  all  of  a  sudden  fell  to  swearing  at  me  in 
the  most  unexpected  way,  and  he  too  did  not 
take  one ;  the  fourth  at  last  took  one,  and 
thanked  me  very  much  for  it,  but  I  fancy  he 
couldn't  make  head  or  tail  of  what  I  said 
to  him.  Besides  that,  a  dog  bit  my  leg  ;  a 
peasant  woman  brandished  a  fire-shovel  at  me 
from  the  door  of  her  hut,  shouting,  "  Ugh  !  you 
beast !  You  Moscow  loafers !  Will  nothing 
drown  you  ?  "  And  a  soldier  on  furlough,  too, 
kept  shouting  after  me,  "  Wait  a  minute,  we  '11 
132 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

put  a  bullet   through    you,  my  friend";    and 
he  'd  got  drunk  on  my  money  ! ' 
'  Anything  more  ? ' 

*  Anything  more  ?  I  've  rubbed  a  blister  on 
my  heel ;  one  of  my  boots  is  awfully  big.  And 
now  I  'm  hungry,  and  my  head  's  splitting  from 
the  vodka.' 

*  Have  you  drunk  much,  then  ? ' 

*  No,  not  much — only  to  set  the  example  ; 
but  I  Ve  been  in  five  ginshops.  But  I  can't 
stand  that  filth — vodka — a  bit.  And  how  our 
peasant  can  drink  it  passes  my  understanding  ! 
If  one  must  drink  vodka  to  be  simplified,  I  'd 
rather  be  excused.' 

*  And  so  no  one  suspected  you  ? ' 

'  No  one.  An  innkeeper,  a  stout,  pale  man 
with  whitish  eyes,  was  the  only  person  who 
looked  at  me  suspiciously.  I  heard  him  tell 
his  wife  to  "  keep  an  eye  on  that  red-haired 
chap  .  .  .  with  the  squint."  (I  never  knew  till 
then  that  I  squinted.)  "He's  a  sharper.  Do 
you  see  how  ponderously  he  drinks  ?  "  What 
ponderously  means  in  that  context  I  didn't 
understand  ;  but  it  could  hardly  be  a  compli- 
ment. Something  after  the  style  of  Gogol's 
"movy-ton"  in  the  Revising  Inspector  \  do 
you  remember?  Perhaps  because  I  tried  to 
pour  my  vodka  under  the  table  on  the  sly. 
Ugh !  it 's  hard,  it 's  hard  for  an  aesthetic 
133 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

creature  to  be  brought  into  contact  with  real 
life ! ' 

'  Better  luck  next  time/  Marianna  consoled 
Nezhdanov.  '  But  I  'm  glad  that  you  look  at 
your  first  attempt  from  a  humorous  point  of 
view.  .  .  .  You  weren't  bored  really  ? ' 

'  No,  I  wasn't  bored  ;  in  fact,  I  was  amused. 
But  I  know  for  a  certainty  I  shall  begin  to 
think  over  it  now,  and  I  shall  feel  so  sick  and 
so  sad.' 

*  No,  no  !  I  won't  let  you  think.  I  'm  going 
to  tell  you  what  I  've  been  doing.  Dinner  '11 
be  brought  us  in  directly  ;  by  the  way,  I  must 
tell  you  I  've  scoured  out  most  thoroughly  the 
pot  Tatyana  's  cooked  the  soup  in.  .  .  .  And 
I  shall  tell  you  .  .  .  everything  over  every 
spoonful.' 

And  so  she  did.  Nezhdanov  listened  to  her 
chat,  and  looked  and  looked  at  her  ...  so  that 
several  times  she  stopped  to  let  him  tell  her 
why  he  was  looking  at  her  like  that.  .  .  .  But 
he  was  silent. 

After  dinner  she  offered  to  read  aloud  to  him 
some  of  Spielhagen.  But  before  she  had 
finished  the  first  page,  he  got  up  impulsively, 
and,  going  up  to  her,  fell  at  her  feet.  She 
stood  up,  he  flung  both  his  arms  round  her 
knees,  and  began  to  utter  passionate  words — 
disconnected  and  despairing  words  !  '  He  would 
134 


J^Wi 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

like  to  die,  he  knew  he  would  soon  die.  .  .  .' 
She  did  not  stir,  did  not  resist ;  she  calmly 
submitted  to  his  abrupt  embrace,  calmly,  even 
caressingly,  looked  down  at  him.  She  laid 
both  hands  on  his  head,  that  was  shaking  con- 
vulsively in  the  folds  of  her  dress.  But  her 
very  calmness  had  a  more  powerful  effect  on 
him  than  if  she  had  repulsed  him.  He  got  up, 
murmured  :  *  Forgive  me,  Marianna,  for  what 
has  passed  to-day  and  yesterday  ;  tell  me  again 
that  you  are  ready  to  wait  till  I  am  worthy  of 
your  love,  and  forgive  me.* 

'  I  have  given  you  my  word  .  .  .  and  I  can't 
change.' 

*  Thank  you  ;  good-bye.* 

Nezhdanov  went  out ;  Marianna  locked  her- 
self in  her  room. 


135 


XXX 

A  FORTNIGHT  later,  in  the  same  place,  this 
was  what  Nezhdanov  was  writing  to  his  friend 
Silin,  as  he  bent  over  his  little  three-legged 
table,  on  which  a  tallow  candle  gave  a  dim  and 
niggardly  light.  (It  was  long  after  midnight. 
On  the  sofa  and  on  the  floor  lay  mud-stained 
garments,  hurriedly  flung  ofl" ;  a  fine,  incessant 
rain  was  pattering  on  the  window-panes,  and  a 
strong,  warm  wind  breathed  in  great  sighs  about 
the  roof.) 

*Dear  Vladimir, — I  am  writing  to  you 
without  putting  an  address,  and  this  letter  will 
even  be  sent  by  a  messenger  to  a  distant 
posting-station,  because  my  presence  here  is  a 
secret ;  and  to  tell  it  you  might  mean  the  ruin 
not  of  myself  alone.  It  will  be  enough  for  you 
to  know  that  I  have  been  living  at  a  large  fac- 
tory, together  with  Marianna,  for  the  last  fort- 
night. We  ran  away  from  the  Sipyagins'  the 
very  day  I  wrote  to  you  last.  We  were  given 
136  ^ 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

a  home  here  by  a  friend.  I  will  call  him 
Vassily.  He  is  the  chief  person  here — a  splen- 
did fellow.  Our  stay  in  this  factory  is  only 
temporary.  We  are  here  till  the  time  comes 
for  action — though,  to  judge  by  what  has  hap- 
pened so  far,  this  time  is  hardly  likely  ever  to 
come!  Vladimir,  my  heart  is  heavy,  heavy. 
First  of  all,  I  must  tell  you  that  though  Marianna 
and  I  have  run  away  together,  we  are  so  far 
as  brother  and  sister.  She  loves  me  .  .  .  and 
has  told  me  she  will  be  mine  if  ...  I  feel  I 
have  the  right  to  ask  it  of  her. 

*  Vladimir,  I  don't  feel  I  have  the  right !  She 
believes  in  me,  in  my  honesty — I  'm  not  going 
to  deceive  her.  I  know  I  have  never  loved  any 
one  and  never  shall  love  (that 's  pretty  certain  !) 
any  one  more  than  her.  But,  for  all  that,  how 
can  I  unite  her  fate  for  ever  to  mine  ?  A  living 
being — to  a  corpse  ?  Well,  not  a  corpse — to  a 
half-dead  creature !  Where  would  one's  con- 
science be?  You  will  say,  if  there  were  a 
strong  passion — conscience  would  have  nothing 
to  say.  That 's  the  very  point  that  I  am  a 
corpse ;  an  honest,  well-meaning  corpse,  if  you 
like.  Please  don't  cry  out  that  I  always  exag- 
gerate. .  .  .  All  I  am  telling  you  is  the  truth ! 
the  truth  !  Marianna  is  a  very  concentrated 
nature,  and  now  she  is  all  absorbed  in  her 
activity,  in  which  she  believes.  .  .  While  I  ? 
137 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

'Well,  enough  of  love  and  personal  happiness, 
and  everything  of  that  sort.  For  the  last  fort- 
night now  I  have  been  "  going  to  the  people," 
and  alack  and  alack  !  anything  more  absurd  you 
cannot  imagine.  Of  course,  there  the  fault  lies 
in  me,  and  not  in  the  work  itself.  Granted,  I  'm 
not  a  Slavophil ;  I  'm  not  one  of  those  who  find 
their  panacea  in  the  people,  in  contact  with 
them  ;  I  don't  lay  the  people  on  my  aching 
stomach  like  a  flannel  bandage  ...  I  want  to 
have  an  influence  on  them  myself;  but  how? 
How  accomplish  that  ?  It  appears  when  I  am 
with  the  people  that  I  am  always  only  stooping 
to  them,  and  listening;  and  when  it  does  happen 
that  I  say  anything,  it's  below  contempt!  I 
feel  myself  I  'm  no  good.  It 's  like  a  bad  actor 
in  the  wrong  part.  Conscientiousness  is  quite 
out  of  place  in  this,  and  so  is  scepticism,  and 
even  a  sort  of  pitiful  humour  directed  against 
myself.  ...  It 's  all  not  worth  a  brass  farthing ! 
It 's  positively  sickening  to  remember  ;  sicken- 
ing to  look  at  the  rags  I  drag  about  on  me,  at 
this  masquerade,  as  Vassily  expresses  it !  They 
maintain  one  ought  first  to  study  the  people's 
talk,  learn  their  character  and  habits.  .  .  . 
Rubbish  !  rubbish  !  rubbish !  One  must  believe 
in  what  one  says,  and  then  one  may  say  what 
one  likes.  I  once  chanced  to  hear  something 
like  a  sermon  from  a  sectarian  prophet.  There's 
138 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

no  saying  what  rot  he  talked  ;  it  was  a  sort 
of  hotch-potch  of  ecclesiastical  and  bookish 
language,  with  simple  peasant  idioms,  and  that 
not  Russian,  but  White  Russian  of  some  sort. 
.  .  .  And  you  know  he  kept  pounding  away 
at  the  same  thing,  like  a  plover  calling! 
"The  spirit  has  dee-scended,  the  spirit  has 
dee-scended  !  "  But  then  his  eyes  were 
ablaze,  his  voice  firm  and  hoarse,  his  fists 
clenched — he  was  like  iron  all  over !  The 
listeners  did  not  understand,  but  they  revered 
him  !  And  they  followed  him  !  While  I  start 
speaking  like  a  criminal — I  'm  begging  pardon 
all  the  while.  I  ought  to  go  to  the  sectarians, 
really;  their  art  is  not  great  .  .  .  but  there's 
the  place  to  get  faith,  faith !  Marianna  there 
has  faith.  She 's  at  work  from  early  morning, 
busy  with  Tatyana,  a  peasant  woman  here,  good- 
natured  and  not  a  fool ;  by  the  way,  she  says  of 
us  that  we  want  simplification,  and  calls  us 
simplified  folks  ; — well,  Marianna  busies  herself 
with  this  woman,  and  never  sits  down  a  minute  ; 
she 's  a  regular  ant !  She 's  delighted  that  her 
hands  are  getting  red  and  rough ;  and  looks 
forward  to  some  day,  if  necessary,  the  scaffold ! 
While  awaiting  the  scaffold,  she  has  even  tried 
giving  up  shoes  ;  she  went  somewhere  barefoot, 
and  came  back  barefoot.  I  heard  her  after- 
wards washing  her  feet  a  long  while  ;  I  see  she 
139 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

walks  cautiously  on  them — they're  sore  from 
not  being  used  to  it ;  but  she  looks  as  joyful, 
as  radiant,  as  though  she  had  found  a  treasure, 
as  though  the  sun  were  shining  on  her. 
Yes,  Marianna  's  first-rate  !  And  when  I  try 
to  talk  to  her  of  my  feelings,  to  begin  with, 
I  feel  somehow  ashamed,  as  though  I  were 
laying  hands  on  what's  not  mine;  and  then 
that  look  ...  oh,  that  awful,  devoted,  unresist- 
ing look.  ..."  Take  me,"  it  seems  to  say  .  .  . 
^^but  remember!  And  what  need  of  all  this? 
Isn't  there  something  better,  higher  upon 
earth  ? "  That  is,  in  other  words,  "  Put  on 
your  stinking  overcoat,  and  go  out  to  the 
people."  .  .  .  And  so,  you  see,  I  go  out  to  the 
people.  .  .  . 

'  Oh,  how  I  curse  at  such  times  my  nervous- 
ness, delicacy,  sensitiveness,  squeamishness,  all 
I  have  inherited  from  my  aristocratic  father! 
What  right  had  he  to  shove  me  into  life,  sup- 
plying me  with  organs  utterly  unfit  for  the 
surroundings  in  which  I  must  move  ?  To  hatch 
a  chicken  and  shove  it  into  the  water!  An 
artist  in  the  mud  !  a  democrat,  a  lover  of  the 
people,  whom  the  mere  smell  of  that  loathsome 
vodka,  "the  green  wine,"  turns  ill  and  nearly 
sick? 

*See  what  I've  worked  myself  up  to — 
abusing  my  father!  And,  indeed,  I  became 
140 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

a    democrat    of   myself;     he'd    no    hand    in 
that. 

*  Yes,  Vladimir,  I  *m  in  a  bad  way.  I  have 
begun  to  be  haunted  by  some  grey,  ugly 
thoughts !  Can  it  be,  you  will  ask  me,  that 
I  have  not  even  during  this  fortnight  come 
across  anything  consolatory,  any  good,  live 
person,  however  ignorant  ?  What  shall  I  say  ? 
I  have  met  something  of  the  sort  .  .  .  I  Ve 
even  come  across  one  very  fine,  splendid, 
plucky  chap.  But  turn  it  which  way  I  will,  I  'm 
no  use  to  him  with  my  pamphlets,  and  that's 
all  about  it !  Pavel — a  man  in  the  factory  here 
— (he 's  Vassily's  right  hand,  a  very  clever,  very 
sharp  fellow,  a  future  "head"  ...  I  fancy  I 
wrote  to  you  about  him) — he  has  a  friend,  a 
peasant,  Elizar  is  his  name  ...  a  clear  brain, 
too,  and  a  free  spirit,  untrammelled  in  every 
way ;  but  directly  we  meet,  it 's  as  though 
there 's  a  wall  between  us !  his  face  is  nothing 
but  a  "  No  ! "  And  again  another  fellow  I  met 
with  ...  he  was  one  of  the  hot-tempered  sort, 
though.  "  Now  then,  sir,"  says  he,  "  no  soft 
soap,  please,  but  say  straight  out,  are  you 
giving  up  all  your  land,  as  it  is,  or  not?" 
"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  I  answered  ;  "  I  'm  not 
a  gentleman ! "  (and  I  even  added,  I  re- 
member, "  Lord  bless  you  ! ").  "  But  if  you  're 
a  common  man,"  says  he,  "  what  sort  of  sense 
141 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

is  there  in   you?      Do   me   the   favour  to  let 
me  alone ! " 

*  And  another  thing.  I  've  noticed  if  any  one 
listens  to  you  very  readily,  takes  pamphlets  at 
once,  you  may  be  sure  he 's  one  of  the  wrong 
sort,  a  featherhead  ;  or  you  '11  come  on  a  fine 
talker,  an  educated  fellow,  who  can  do  nothing 
but  keep  repeating  some  favourite  expression. 
One,  for  instance,  simply  drove  me  distracted  ; 
everything  with  him  was  "product."  What- 
ever you  say  to  him,  he  keeps  on,  "  To  be  sure 
a  product ! "  Ugh,  to  the  devil  with  him 
One  remark  more.  ...  Do  you  remember  at 
one  time,  a  long  while  ago,  there  used  to  be  a 
great  deal  of  talk  about  "  superfluous  "  people 
— Hamlets  ?  Fancy,  such  "  superfluous  "  people 
are  to  be  found  now  among  the  peasants !  with 
a  special  tone  of  their  own,  of  course.  .  .  . 
Moreover,  they're  for  the  most  part  of  con- 
sumptive build.  Interesting  types,  and  they 
come  to  us  readily ;  but  for  the  cause  they  're 
no  good — ^just  like  the  Hamlets  of  former  days. 
Come,  what  is  one  to  do,  then  ?  Found  a  secret 
printing-press  ?  Why,  there  are  books  enough 
as  it  is,  both  of  the  sort,  "  Cross  yourself  and  take 
up  the  hatchet,"  and  the  sort  that  say,  "  Take  up 
the  hatchet"  simply.  Write  novels  of  peasant 
life,  filled  out  with  padding?  They  wouldn't 
get  printed,  most  likely.  Or  first  take  up  the 
142 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

hatchet  ?  .  .  .  But  against  whom,  with  whom, 
what  for?  So  that  the  national  soldier  may 
shoot  you  down  with  the  national  rifle  !  Well, 
that 's  a  sort  of  complex  suicide  !  It  would 
be  better  to  make  an  end  of  myself.  At 
least  I  shall  know  when  and  how,  and  shall 
choose  myself  what  part  to  aim  at. .  .  .  Really, 
I  fancy  if  there  were  a  war  of  independence 
going  on  now  anywhere,  I  would  set' off  there, 
not  to  liberate  anybody  whatever  (the  idea  of 
liberating  others  when  one's  own  people  are 
not  free  !),  but  to  make  an  end  of  myself. 

*  Our  friend  Vassily,  the  man  who  has  taken 
us  in  here,  is  a  happy  man  ;  he  is  of  our  camp, 
and  a  quiet  fellow  in  a  way.  He 's  not  in  a 
hurry.  Another  man  I  should  abuse  for  that 
.  .  .  but  him  I  can't.  And  it  seems  as  though 
the  whole  basis  of  it  doesn't  lie  in  convictions, 
but  in  character.  Vassily  has  a  character  you 
can't  pick  holes  in.  Well,  to  be  sure  he 's  right. 
He  sits  a  great  deal  with  us,  with  Marianna. 
And  here  's  a  curious  fact.  I  love  her  and  she 
loves  me  (I  can  see  you  smiling  at  that  phrase, 
but,  by  God,  it's  so!);  and  we  have  hardly 
anything  to  say  to  one  another.  But  she 
argues  and  discusses  with  him,  and  listens  to 
him.  I  'm  not  jealous  of  him ;  he 's  taking  steps 
for  getting  her  into  some  place,  at  least  she  asks 
him  about  it ;  only  my  heart  aches  when  I  look 
143 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

at  them.  And  yet  imagine  :  if  I  were  to  falter 
out  a  word  about  marriage,  she  'd  agree  at  once, 
and  the  priest,  Zosim,  would  put  in  an  appear- 
ance :  "  Esaias,  be  exalted,"  and  all  the  rest  in 
due  order.  Only,  it  would  make  it  no  better 
for  me,  and  nothing  would  be  changed.  .  .  . 
There 's  no  way  out  of  it !  Life's  cut  me  on  the 
cross,  dear  Vladimir,  as  you  remember  our 
friend  the  drunken  tailor  used  to  complain  of 
his  wife. 

*  I  feel,  though,  that  it  won't  last  long,  I  feel 
that  something  is  preparing.  .  .  . 

*  Haven't  I  demanded  and  proved  that  we 
ought  to  "  act "  ?  Well,  now  we  are  going  to 
act. 

'  I  don't  remember  whether  I  wrote  to  you 
of  another  friend  of  mine,  a  dark  fellow,  a 
relation  of  the  Sipyagins.  He  may,  very 
likely,  cook  a  kettle  of  fish  that  won't  be 
swallowed  too  easily. 

*  I  quite  meant  to  finish  this  letter  before,  but 
there !  Though  I  do  nothing,  nothing  at  all,  I 
scribble  verses.  I  don't  read  them  to  Marianna, 
she  doesn't  much  care  for  them,  but  you  .  .  . 
sometimes  even  praise  them  ;  and  what 's  of 
most  importance,  you  won't  talk  about  them  to 
any  one.  I  have  been  struck  by  one  universal 
phenomenon  in  Russia.  Any  way,  here  they  are 
— the  verses : 

144 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

'SLEEP 

*A  long  while  I  had  not  been  in  my  own  land.  .  .  . 
But  I  found  in  it  no  change  to  notice — 
Everywhere  the  same  deathlike,  senseless  stagnation, 
Houses  without  roofs,  walls  tumbling  down, 
And  the  same  filth  and  stench  and  poverty  and 

boredom  ! 
And  the  same  slavish  glance,  now  insolent,  now  abject! 
Our  people  were  made  free  ;  and  the  free  arm 
Hangs  as  before  like  a  whip  unused. 
All,  all  is  as  before.  .  .  .  And  in  one  thing  alone 
Europe,  Asia,  the  whole  world  we  have  outstripped  ! 
No  !  never  yet  have  my  dear  countrymen 
Sunk  into  a  sleep  so  terrible  ! 

'  Everything  is  asleep ;  everywhere,  in  village  and  in 

town, 
In  cart,  in  sledge,  by  day,  by  night,  sitting  and  stand- 
ing ..  . 
The  merchant,  the  official  sleeps  ;  the  sentinel  at  his 

post 
Stands  asleep  in  the  cold  of  the  snow  and  in  the 

burning  heat ! 
And  the  prisoner  sleeps  ;  and  the  judge  snores  ; 
Dead  asleep  are  the  peasants  ;  asleep,  they  reap  and 

plough ; 
They  thresh  asleep ;    the  father  sleeps,  the  mother 

and  children 
All  are  asleep  !     He  that  flogs  is  asleep,  and  he  too 

that  is  flogged  ! 
Only  the  Tsar's  gin-shop  never  closes  an  eye ; 
And  grasping  tight  her  pot  of  gin. 
Her  brow  on  the  Pole  and  her  heels  on  the  Caucasus, 
Lies  in  interminable  sleep  our  country,  holy  Russia  1 
VOL.  II.  145  К 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

•please  forgive  me  :  I  didn't  want  to  send  you 
such  a  melancholy  letter  without  giving  you 
a  little  amusement  at  the  end  (you  '11  certainly 
notice  some  halting  lines  .  .  .  but  what  of  it!). 
When  shall  I  write  to  you  again?  Shall  I 
write  again  ?  Whatever  becomes  of  me,  I  am 
sure  you  will  not  forget  your  faithful  friend, 

*A.  N. 

*  PS. — Yes,  our  people  is  asleep.  .  .  .  But 
I  fancy  if  anything  ever  does  wake  it,  it  won't 
be  what  we  are  thinking  of.  .  .  .' 

After  writing  the  last  line  Nezhdanov  flung 
down  the  pen,  and  saying  to  himself,  *  Well, 
now  try  to  sleep  and  forget  all  this  rot, 
rhymester ' ;  he  lay  down  on  the  bed  .  .  .  but 
it  was  long  before  sleep  visited  his  eyes. 

Next  morning  Marianna  waked  him,  passing 
through  his  room  to  Tatyana ;  but  he  had  only 
just  had  time  to  dress  when  she  came  back 
again.  Her  face  expressed  delight  and  agita- 
tion ;  she  seemed  excited. 

'  Do  you  know,  Alyosha,  they  say  that  in  the 

T district,  not  far  from  here,  it  has  begun 

already ! ' 

*  Eh  ?  what  has  begun  ?  who  says  so  ?  ' 

*  Pavel.  They  say  the  peasants  are  rising 
refusing  to  pay  taxes,  collecting  in  mobs.* 

146 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

'You  heard  that  yourself?' 

*  Tatyana  told  me.  But  here  's  Pavel  him- 
self.    Ask  him.' 

Pavel  came  in  and  confirmed  Marianna's 
tale. 

*  There 's  disturbance  in  T district,  that 's 

true ! '  he  said,  shaking  his  beard  and  screwing 
up  his  flashing  black  eyes.  *  It 's  Sergei  Mihal- 
ovitch's  work,  one  must  suppose.  It's  five 
days  now  he  's  not  been  at  home.' 

Nezhdanov  snatched  up  his  cap. 
'Where  are  you  going?'  asked  Marianna. 

*  Where  ?  .  .  .  there,'  he  answered,  scowling, 
and  not  raising  his  eyes  ;  *  to  T district' 

*  Then  I  '11  go  with  you.  You  '11  take  me, 
won't  you?  Only  let  me  put  a  big  kerchief 
over  my  head.' 

*  It 's  not  a  woman's  work/  said  Nezhdanov 
sullenly,  as  before  looking  down  as  though 
irritated. 

*  No !  .  .  .  no !  .  .  .  You  do  right  to  go ;  or 
Markelov  would  think  you  a  coward.  .  .  .  And 
I  will  go  with  you.' 

*  I  'm  not  a  coward,'  said  Nezhdanov  in  the 
same  sullen  voice. 

*  I  meant  to  say  he  would  take  us  both  for 
cowards.     I  'm  coming  with  you.' 

Marianna  went  into   her  room  for   the  ker- 
chief, while  Pavel  uttered  in  a  sort  of  stealthy 
147 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

inward  whistle,  *Ah-ha,   aha!*  and   promptly 
vanished.     He  ran  to  warn  Solomin. 

Marianna  had  not  reappeared  when  Solomin 
came  into  Nezhdanov's  room.  He  was  stand- 
ing with  his  face  to  the  window,  his  forehead 
resting  on  his  arm,  and  his  arm  on  the  window- 
pane.  Solomin  touched  him  on  the  shoulder. 
He  turned  quickly  round.  Dishevelled  and 
unwashed,  Nezhdanov  had  a  wild  and  strange 
look.  Though  indeed  Solomin  too  had  changed 
of  late.  He  had  grown  yellow,  his  face  looked 
drawn,  his  upper  teeth  were  slightly  visible. 
. .  .  He  too  seemed  unhinged,  so  far  as  his  *  well- 
balanced  '  nature  could  be. 

*  So  Markelov  could  not  control  himself,'  he 
began ;  ^  this  may  turn  out  badly,  for  him  chiefly 
.  .  .  and  for  others  too.' 

*  I  want  to  go  and  see  what 's  going  on  ,  ,  .' 
observed  Nezhdanov. 

'And   I  too,'  added  Marianna,  making  her 
appearance  in  the  doorway. 
Solomin  turned  slowly  to  her. 

*  I  would  not  advise  you  to,  Marianna.  You 
might  betray  yourself  and  us  ;  without  meaning 
to  and  utterly  needlessly.  Let  Nezhdanov  go 
and  see  what 's  in  the  air  a  little,  if  he  likes 
,  .  .  and  the  less  of  that  the  better ! — but  why 
should  you  ? ' 

*  I  don't  like  to  stay  behind  when  he  goes.' 

148 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

You  will  hamper  him.* 

Marianna  glanced  at  Nezhdanov.  He  stood 
immovable,  with  an  immovable,  sullen  face. 

*  But  if  there 's  danger  ? '  she  said. 
Solomin  smiled. 

*  Don't  be  afraid  .  .  .  when  there 's  danger, 
I  '11  let  you  go.' 

Marianna  silently  took  the  kerchief  off  her 
head  and  sat  down. 

Then  Solomin  turned  to  Nezhdanov. 

*  And  do  you,  brother,  really  look  about 
a  little.  Perhaps  it 's  all  exaggerated.  Only, 
please,  be  careful.  Some  one  shall  go  with 
you,  though.  And  come  back  as  quick  as  pos- 
sible. You  promise?  Nezhdanov,  do  you 
promise  ? ' 

*Yes.' 

*  Yes,  for  certain  ? ' 

*  Since  every  one  obeys  you  here,  Marianna 
and  all.' 

Nezhdanov  went  out  into  the  passage  with- 
out saying  good-bye.  Pavel  popped  up  out  of 
the  darkness  and  ran  down  the  staircase  before 
him,  his  iron-shod  boots  ringing  as  he  went. 
Was  he  then  to  accompany  Nezhdanov  ? 

Solomin  sat  down  by  Marianna. 

*  You  heard  Nezhdanov's  last  words  ? ' 

*  Yes ;  he 's  vexed  that  I  listen  to  you  more 
than  to  him.     And  indeed  it's  the  truth.     I 

149 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

love  him,  but  I  obey  you.  He's  dearer  to  me 
.  .  .  but  you  're  nearer.' 

Solomin  cautiously  stroked  her  hand  with 
his. 

'This  ...  is  a  most  unpleasant  affair/  he 
observed  at  last.  *  If  Markelov  's  mixed  up  in 
it— he 's  lost.' 

Marianna  shuddered. 

*  Lost  ? ' 

*Yes.  ...  He  does  nothing  by  halves,  and 
he  won't  hide  behind  others.' 

*  Lost ! '  murmured  Marianna  again,  and  the 
tears  ran  down  her  face.  '  О  Vassily  Fedot- 
itch !  I  am  very  sorry  for  him.  But  why 
can't  he  be  victorious  ?  Why  must  he  inevitably 
be  lost  ? ' 

*  Because  in  such  undertakings,  Marianna, 
the  first  always  perish,  even  if  they  succeed. 
.  .  .  And  in  the  work  he's,  plotting  for,  not 
only  the  first  and  the  second,  but  even  the 
tenth  .  .  .  and  the  twentieth.' 

*  Then  we  shall  never  live  to  see  it  ? ' 

*  What  you  are  dreaming  of?  Never.  With 
our  eyes  we  shall  never  look  upon  it ;  with 
these  living  eyes.  In  the  spirit  ...  to  be  sure, 
that 's  a  different  matter.  We  may  gratify  our- 
selves by  the  sight  of  it  that  way  now,  at  once. 
There  's  no  restriction  there.' 

'  Then  how  is  it  you,  Solomin 

150 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

«What?' 

*  How  is  it  you  are  going  along  the  same 
way?' 

*  Because  there 's  no  other  ;  that  is,  speaking 
more  correctly,  my  aim  is  the  same  as  Marke- 
lov's  ;  but  our  paths  are  different' 

'Poor  Sergei  Mihalovitch ! '  said  Marianna 
mournfully.  Solomin  again  gave  her  a  dis- 
creet caress. 

*  Come,  come ;  there  's  nothing  certain  yet. 
We  shall  see  what  news  Pavel  brings.  In  our 
.  .  .  work  one  must  be  of  good  courage.  The 
English  say,  "  Never  say  die."  A  good  pro- 
verb. Better  than  the  Russian,  "  When  trouble 
comes,  open  the  gates  wide."  It's  useless 
lamenting  beforehand.' 

Solomin  got  up  from  his  seat. 

*  And  the  place  you  meant  to  get  me?'  asked 
Marianna  suddenly.  The  tears  were  still  glisten- 
ing on  her  cheeks,  but  there  was  no  sadness  in 
her  eyes. 

Solomin  sat  down  again. 

*Do  you  want  so  much  to  get  away  from 
here  as  soon  as  possible  ? ' 

'  Oh,  no !  but  I  should  like  to  be  of  use.' 

'  Marianna,  you  are  of  great  use  even  here. 
Don't  forsake  us,  wait  a  little.  What  is  it?' 
Solomin  asked  of  Tatyana,  who  came  in. 

*  Well,  there  's  some  sort  of  a  female  article 
151 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

asking  for  Alexey  Dmitritch/  answered  Taty- 
ana,  laughing  and  gesticulating.  '  I  was  for 
saying  that  he  wasn't  here,  not  here  at  all. 
We  don't  know  any  such  person,  says  I.  But 
then  it ' 

*  Who's— it?' 

*  Why,  this  same  female  article  took  and 
wrote  her  name  on  this  slip  of  paper  here,  and 
says  I  'm  to  show  it,  and  that  '11  admit  her  ; 
and  that  if  Alexey  Dmitritch  really  isn't  at 
home,  then  she  can  wait' 

On  the  paper  stood  in  large  letters,  *  Ma- 
shurina.' 

'Show  her  in,'  said  Solomin.  *You  won't 
mind,  Marianna,  if  she  comes  in  here  ?  She, 
too,  is  one  of  ours.' 

'  Oh,  no  !  indeed  ! ' 

A  few  seconds  later  Mashurina  appeared  in 
the  doorway,  in  the  same  dress  in  which  we 
saw  her  at  the  beginning  of  the  first  chapter. 


152 


XXXI 

*  Is  Nezhdanov  not  at  home  ? '  she  asked  ;  then, 
seeing  Solomin,  she  went  up  to  him,  and  gave 
him  her  hand.  *  How  are  you,  Solomin  ? '  At 
Marianna  she  simply  cast  a  sidelong  glance. 

*  He  will  soon  be  back,'  answered  Solomin. 
*But  let  me  ask,  from  v/hom  did  you  find 
out  .  .  .?' 

*  From  Markelov.  Though  indeed  it 's  known 
in  the  town  ...  to  two  or  three  people  already.' 

'Really?' 

*  Yes.  Some  one  has  blabbed.  Besides,  they 
say  Nezhdanov  himself  has  been  recognised.' 

*  So  much  for  this  dressing-up  business ! ' 
muttered  Solomin.  *Let  me  introduce  you,' 
he  added  aloud.  *  Miss  Sinetsky,  Miss 
Mashurin  !     Pray  sit  down  ! ' 

Mashurina  gave  a  slight  nod  and  sat  down. 

*  I  have  a  letter  for  Nezhdanov  ;  and  for  you, 
Solomin,  a  verbal  message.' 

*  What  sort  of  message  ?     From  whom  ? ' 

153 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

*From  a  person  you  know.  .  .  .  How  are 
things  with  you  ?  ...  is  everything  ready  ? ' 

*  Nothing  is  ready.' 

Mashurina  opened  her  tiny  little  eyes  as 
wide  as  she  could. 

*  Nothing?' 

*  Nothing.' 

*  You  mean  absolutely  nothing  ? 

*  Absolutely  nothing.' 

*  Is  that  what  I  'm  to  say  ? ' 

*  That 's  what  you  must  say.* 

Mashurina  pondered  a  minute,  then  she  took 
a  cigarette  out  of  her  pocket. 

*  A  light — can  you  give  me?* 

*  Here 's  a  match.' 
Mashurina  lighted  her  cigarette. 

'They  expected  something  quite  different,* 
she  began.  '  And  all  around — it 's  not  as  it  is 
with  you.  However,  that 's  your  affair.  I  'm  not 
here  for  long.  Only  to  see  Nezhdanov  and  to 
give  him  the  letter.' 

*  Where  are  you  going  ? ' 

'Oh,  a  long  way  from  here.'  (She  was  in 
fact  going  to  Geneva,  but  she  did  not  care  to 
tell  Solomin  so.  She  did  not  regard  him  as 
altogether  trustworthy;  besides,  there  was  an 
'outsider'  sitting  there.  Mashurina,  who  hardly 
knew  a  word  of  German,  was  being  sent  to, 
Geneva  in  order  to  hand  to  a  person  there 
154 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

utterly  unknown  to  her,  a  torn  scrap  of  card- 
board with  a  vine-branch  sketched  on  it,  and 
two  hundred  and  seventy-nine  roubles.) 
'  Where 's  Ostrodumov  ?     Is  he  with  you  ?  * 

*  No.  He  's  near  here  ...  he  got  stuck  on 
the  way.  But  he  '11  come  when  he  's  wanted. 
Pimen  's  all  right.  No  need  to  worry  about 
him.' 

*  How  did  you  come  here?' 

*  In  a  cart  .  .  .  how  else  should  I  ?  Give 
me  another  match.  .  .  .' 

Solomin  gave  her  a  lighted  match. 

*  Vassily  Fedotitch ! '  a  voice  whispered  all 
at  once  at  the  door.     '  Please,  sir ! ' 

'  Who  's  there  ?     What  do  you  want  ?  * 

'Please  come,'  the  voice  repeated  with  per- 
suasive insistency.  '  There  's  some  strange 
workmen  come  here ;  they  keep  jawing  away, 
and  Pavel  Yegoritch  isn't  here.' 

Solomin  excused  himself,  got  up  and  went 
out. 

Mashurina  fell  to  staring  at  Marianna,  and 
stared  at  her  so  long  that  the  latter  was  quite 
out  of  countenance. 

'  Forgive  me,'  she  said  suddenly  in  her  gruff, 
abrupt  voice  ;  Ч  'm  a  rough  sort,  I  don't  know 
how  to  put  things.  Don't  be  angry ;  you 
needn't  answer  if  you  don't  want  to.  Are  you 
the  girl  that  ran  away  from  the  Sipyagins'  ?  * 
155 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

Marianna  was  somewhat  disconcerted ;  how- 
ever, she  said,  '  Yes.' 
'  With  Nezhdanov  ? ' 

*  Well,  yes.' 

*  If  you  please  .  .  .  give  me  your  hand.  For- 
give me,  please.  You  must  be  good,  since  he 
loves  you.' 

Marianna  pressed  her  hand. 

*  Do  you  know  Nezhdanov  well  ? ' 

*Yes,  I  know  him.  I  used  to  see  him  in 
Petersburg.  That 's  what  makes  me  say  so. 
Sergei  Mihalitch,  too,  told  me.  .  .  .' 

'  Ah,  Markelov !    You  have  seen  him  lately  ?  * 

*  Yes.     Now  he  's  gone  away.' 

*  Where?' 

■  Where  he  was  ordered.' 
Marianna  sighed. 

*  Ah,  Miss  Mashurin,  I  fear  for  him/ 

*  To  begin  with,  I  'm  not  "  Miss."  You  ought 
to  cast  off  all  such  manners.  And,  secondly 
.  .  .  you  say,  "  I  fear."  That  won't  do  either. 
You  will  come  not  to  fear  for  yourself,  and 
to  give  up  fearing  for  others.  Though  indeed 
I  '11  tell  you  what  strikes  me :  it 's  easy  for 
me,  Fekla  Mashurina,  to  talk  like  that.  I  'm 
ugly.  But  of  course  .  .  .  you're  a  beauty. 
That  must  make  it  all  the  harder  for  you.' 
(Marianna  looked  down  and  turned  away.) 
*  Sergei  Mihalovitch  told  me.  ,  ,  .  He  knew  I 

156 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

had  a  letter  for  Nezhdanov.  ..."  Don't  go  to 
the  factory,"  he  said  to  me,  "don't  take  the 
letter  ;  it  will  be  the  breaking-up  of  everything 
there.  Stay  away !  They  're  both  happy  there. 
...  So  let  them  be !  Don't  meddle ! "  I  should 
be  glad  not  to  meddle  .  .  .  but  what  was  I  to 
do  about  the  letter?' 

*You  must  give  it  without  fail,'  Marianna 
assented.  'But  oh,  how  kind  he  is,  Sergei 
Mihalitch!  Can  it  be  that  he  will  be  killed, 
Mashurina  ...  or  be  sent  to  Siberia  ? ' 

*  Well,  what  then  ?  Don't  people  come  back 
from  Siberia?  And  as  for  losing  one's  life! 
Life 's  sweet  to  some,  and  to  some  it 's  bitter. 
His  life  is  not  made  of  refined  sugar  either.' 

Mashurina  again  turned  an  intent  and  in- 
quisitive gaze  on  Marianna. 

*Yes,  you  are  certainly  beautiful,'  she  cried 
at  last,  *  a  perfect  little  bird  !  I  'm  beginning 
to  think  Alexey's  not  coming.  .  .  .  Shouldn't 
I  give  you  the  letter  ?     Why  wait  ? ' 

*  I  will  give  it  him,  you  may  rest  assured.' 
Mashurina  rested  her  cheek  in  her  hand,  and 

for  a  long,  long  time  she  did  not  speak. 

*Tell  me,'  she  began  ,  .  .  'excuse  me  .  -  . 
do  you  love  him  very  much  ? ' 

'Yes.' 

Mashurina  shook  her  heavy  head. 

*Well,  there's  no  need  to  inquire  whether 
157 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

he  loves  you.  I  'm  going,  though,  or  perhaps 
I  shall  be  too  late.  You  tell  him  that  I  have 
been  here  .  .  .  sent  my  greetings  to  him.  Tell 
him  Mashurina  has  been.  You  won't  forget 
my  name?  No,  Mashurina.  And  the  letter. 
.  .  .  Wait  a  bit,  where  have  I  put  it  to  ?  .  .  . ' 

Mashurina  stood  up,  turned  away,  making 
a  pretence  of  rummaging  in  her  pockets,  but 
meanwhile  she  rapidly  put  into  her  mouth  a 
little  folded  scrap  of  paper  and  swallowed  it. 
'  Ah,  my  goodness  !  What  a  piece  of  idiocy ! 
Can  I  have  lost  it?  Lost  it  really  is.  What 
a  misfortune  !  If  any  one  were  to  find  it !  .  .  . 
No ;  it 's  nowhere.  So  it  has  turned  out  as 
Sergei  Mihalitch  wished,  after  all ! ' 

'  Look  again,'  whispered  Marianna. 

Mashurina  waved  her  hand. 

'No!     What's  the  use?     It's  lost!' 

Marianna  went  up  to  her. 

*  Well,  kiss  me,  then  ! ' 

Mashurina  suddenly  took  Marianna  in  her 
arms  and  pressed  her  to  her  bosom  with  more 
than  a  woman's  force. 

*  I  wouldn't  have  done  that  for  anybody,'  she 
said  thickly,  *  it 's  against  my  conscience  .  .  . 
it 's  the  first  time  !  Tell  him  to  be  more  care- 
ful. .  .  .  And  you  too.  Mind !  It  '11  soon  be 
a  bad  place  for  you  here,  very  bad.  Get  away 
both  of  you,  while  .  .  .  Good-bye ! '  she  added 

158 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

in  a  loud  sharp  voice.  *  But  there  's  something 
else  .  .  .  tell  him.  .  .  .  No,  there  's  no  need. 
It 's  no  use.' 

Mashurina  went  out,  slamming  the  door,  and 
Marianna  was  left  pondering  in  the  middle  of 
the  room. 

*  What  does  it  all  mean  ? '  she  said  at  last ; 
*  why,  that  woman  loves  him  more  than  I  love 
him !  And  what  was  the  meaning  of  her 
hints?  And  why  did  Solomin  go  out  so 
suddenly  and  not  come  back  ? ' 

She  began  walking  up  and  down.  A  strange 
sensation — a  mixture  of  dismay  and  annoyance 
and  bewilderment — took  possession  of  her. 
Why  had  she  not  gone  with  Nezhdanov? 
Solomin  had  dissuaded  her  .  .  .  and  where 
was  he  himself?  And  what  was  going  on  all 
around  her?  Mashurina  of  course  had  not 
given  her  that  fatal  letter,  out  of  sympathy 
for  Nezhdanov.  .  .  .  But  how  could  she  bring 
herself  to  such  an  act  of  insubordination  ?  Did 
she  want  to  show  her  magnanimity?  What 
right  had  she?  And  why  had  she,  Marianna, 
been  so  much  touched  by  that  action?  And 
was  she  really  touched  by  it  ?  An  ugly  woman 
was  attracted  by  a  young  man.  .  .  .  After  all, 
what  was  there  out  of  the  way  in  that  ?  And 
why  did  Mashurina  assume  that  Marianna*s 
devotion  to  Nezhdanov  was  stronger  than  her 
159 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

sense  of  duty?  Perhaps  Marianna  had  not  at 
all  desired  such  a  sacrifice  !  And  what  could 
have  been  contained  in  the  letter  ?  A  call  to 
immediate  action  ?     What  then  ? 

*  And  Markelov  ?  He  is  in  danger  .  .  .  and 
are  we  doing  anything  ? '  she  asked  herself. 
*  Markelov  spares  us  both,  gives  us  the  chance 
of  being  happy,  won't  separate  us  .  .  .  what  is 
that  ?     Magnanimity  too  ...  or  contempt  ? 

*And  did  we  run  away  from  that  detestable 
house  only  to  be  together,  billing  and  cooing 
like  doves  ? ' 

Such  were  Marianna's  meditations.  .  .  .  And 
stronger  and  stronger  was  the  part  played  in 
her  feelings  by  the  same  exasperated  annoy- 
ance. However,  her  vanity  had  been  wounded. 
Why  had  every  one  left  her  alone — every 
one} 

This  *  fat '  woman  had  called  her  a  beauty,  a 
little  bird  .  .  .  why  not  a  doll  at  once?  And 
why  was  it  Nezhdanov  had  not  gone  alone  but 
with  Pavel  ?  As  thougL  he  needed  some  one 
to  look  after  him  !  And  after  all,  what  were 
Solomin's  convictions  really?  He  wasn't  a 
revolutionist  at  all !  And  was  it  possible  any- 
one imagined  that  her  attitude  to  it  all  was  not 
a  serious  one  ? 

Such  were  the  thoughts  that  whirled  chasing 
one  another  in  confusion  through  Marianna's 
1 60 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

heated  brain.  Compressing  her  lips  and  fold- 
ing her  arms  like  a  man,  she  sat  down  at  last 
by  the  window,  and  again  stayed  immovable, 
not  leaning  back  in  her  chair,  all  alertness  and 
intensity,  ready  to  spring  up  any  minute.  Go 
to  Tatyana,  work,  she  would  not ;  she  wanted 
to  do  one  thing  only  ;  to  wait !  And  she 
waited,  obstinately,  almost  spitefully.  From 
time  to  time  her  own  mood  struck  her  as 
strange  and  incomprehensible.  .  .  .  But  it  made 
no  difference !  Once  it  even  occurred  to  her 
to  wonder  whether  jealousy  was  not  at  the  root 
of  all  her  feeling.  But  recalling  the  figure  of 
poor  Mashurina,  she  merely  shrugged  her 
shoulders  and  dismissed  the  idea  with  a  mental 
wave  of  her  hand. 

Marianna  had  long  to  wait ;  at  last  she 
caught  the  sound  of  two  persons'  steps  mount- 
ing the  stairs.  She  turned  her  eyes  on  the 
door  .  .  .  the  steps  drew  nearer.  The  door 
opened  and  Nezhdanov,  supported  under  Pavel's 
arm,  appeared  in  the  doorway.  He  was  deadly 
pale,  and  without  his  cap ;  his  dishevelled  hair 
fell  in  moist  tufts  over  his  brow  ;  his  eyes  were 
staring  straight  before  him,  seeing  nothing. 
Pavel  led  him  across  the  room  (Nezhdanov's 
legs  moved  with  an  uncertain,  feeble  totter)  and 
seated  him  on  the  sofa. 

Marianna  jumped  up. 

VQL.  II.  J^l  h 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

*What  is  it?  What's  wrong  with  him?  Is 
he  ill?' 

But  as  he  settled  Nezhdanov,  Pavel  answered 
her  with  a  smile,  looking  round  over  his 
shoulder. 

*  Don't  worry  yourself,  miss,  it  '11  soon  pass 
off.  ...  It 's  just  from  not  being  used  to  it/ 

*But  what  is  it?'  Marianna  queried  insis- 
tently. 

*  He 's  a  little  tipsy.  Been  drinking  on  an 
empty  stomach  ;  that 's  all ! ' 

Marianna  bent  over  Nezhdanov.  He  was 
half-lying  across  the  sofa ;  his  head  had  sunk 
on  to  his  breast,  his  eyes  were  glassy.  .  .  .  He 
smelt  of  spirits  ;  he  was  drunk. 

*  Alexey  ! '  broke  from  her  lips. 

He  raised  his  heavy  eyelids  with  an  effort 
and  tried  to  smile. 

*Ah!  Marianna!'  he  stammered,  'you  al- 
ways talked  of  sim-sim-plification ;  see  now, 
I  'm  really  simplified.  For  the  people 's  always 
drunk,  so ' 

He  broke  off;  then  muttered  something  in- 
distinct, closed  his  eyes  and  fell  asleep.  Pavel 
laid  him  carefully  on  the  sofa. 

*  Don't  be  worried,  Marianna  Vikentyevna,* 
he  repeated,  *  he  '11  sleep  a  couple  of  hours  and 
wake  up  as  good  as  new.* 

Marianna  was  on  the  point  of  asking  how  it 
162 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

had  happened ;  but  her  questions  would  have  de- 
tained Pavel ;  and  she  wanted  to  be  alone  .  .  . 
that  is,  she  did  not  want  Pavel  to  see  him  in 
such  a  disgraceful  state  before  her  longer  than 
could  be  avoided.  She  turned  away  to  the 
window,  while  Pavel,  who  had  taken  in  the 
situation  at  a  glance,  carefully  covered  Nezh- 
danov's  legs  with  the  skirts  of  his  long  coat, 
put  a  pillow  under  his  head,  once  more  mur- 
mured, *  It 's  nothing ! '  and  went  out  on  tiptoe. 

Marianna  looked  round.  Nezhdanov's  head 
sank  heavily  into  the  pillow  :  on  his  white  face 
could  be  seen  a  tense  immobility,  as  on  the 
face  of  a  man  mortally  sick. 

*  How  did  it  happen  ? '  she  thought. 


163 


XXXII 

This  was  how  it  had  happened. 

On  taking  his  seat  in  the  cart  with  Pavel, 
Nezhdanov  suddenly  fell  into  a  state  of  intense 
excitement ;  and  directly  they  drove  out  of 
the  factory  yard  and  began  rolling  along  the 
highroad  towards  T district,  he  began  shout- 
ing, stopping  the  peasants  that  passed,  and  ad- 
dressing them  in  brief,  disconnected  sentences. 
*  Eh,  are  you  asleep  ?  '  he  would  say.  '  Rise ! 
the  time  has  come !  Down  with  the  taxes ! 
Down  with  the  landowners  ! '  Some  peasants 
stared  at  him  in  amazement ;  others  went  on 
paying  no  attention  to  his  shouts ;  they  took 
him  for  a  drunken  man  ;  one  even  said  when 
he  had  got  home  that  he  had  met  a  Frenchman 
shouting  some  stammering,  incomprehensible 
stuff.  Nezhdanov  had  enough  sense  to  know 
how  unutterably  stupid  and  even  meaningless 
what  he  was  doing  was  ;  but  he  gradually 
worked  himself  up  to  such  a  point  that  he  did 
not  realise  what  was  sense  and  what  was  non- 
164 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

sense.  Pavel  tried  to  quiet  him,  told  him  he 
couldn't  really  go  on  like  that ;  that  soon  they 
would   reach  a  large  village,  the  first  on  the 

borders   of  T district,   '  Lasses'    Springs,' 

— that  there  they  could  reconnoitre.  .  .  .  But 
Nezhdanov  did  not  listen  .  .  .  and  at  the  same 
time  his  face  was  strangely  sad,  almost  despair- 
ing. Their  horse  was  a  very  plucky  round 
little  beast  with  a  clipped  mane  on  his  scraggy 
neck  ;  he  plied  his  sturdy  little  legs  very  actively, 
and  kept  pulling  at  the  reins,  as  though  he  were 
hastening  to  the  scene  of  action  and  taking 
persons  of  importance  there.  Before  they 
reached  *  Lasses'  Springs,'  Nezhdanov  noticed, 
just  off  the  road,  before  an  open  corn  barn, 
eight  peasants  ;  he  sprang  at  once  out  of  the 
cart,  ran  up  to  them  with  sudden  shouts  and 
backhanded  gestures.  The  words,  '  Freedom  ! 
forward  !  Shoulder  to  shoulder ! '  could  be 
distinguished,  hoarse  and  noisy,  above  a  multi- 
tude of  other  words  less  comprehensible.  The 
peasants,  who  had  met  before  the  granary  to 
deliberate  how  it  could  be  filled,  if  only  in 
appearance  (it  was  the  commune  granary,  and 
consequently  empty)  stared  at  Nezhdanov  and 
seemed  to  be  listening  to  his  address  with  great 
attention ;  but  can  hardly  have  understood 
much,  as  when  at  last  he  rushed  away  from 
them,  shouting  for  the  last  time,  *  Freedom  1 ' 
i6<; 


VIRGIN   SOIL         "^     , 

one  of  them,  the  most  acute,  shook  his  head 
with  an  air  of  deep  reflection,  and  commented, 
'Wasn't  he  severe?'   while   another  observed, 

*  Some  captain,  seemingly ! '  to  which  the  acute 
peasant  rejoined,  *  To  be  sure — he  wouldn't 
strain  his  throat  for  nothing.  That 's  what  they 
give  us  nowadays  for  our  money  ! '  Nezhdanov 
himself,  as  he  clambered  into  the  cart  and 
sat  beside  Pavel,  thought  to  himself,  '  Lord  ! 
what  idiocy !  But  there,  not  one  of  us  knows 
just  how  one  ought  to  stir  up  the  people — isn't 
that  it,  perhaps  ?  There 's  no  time  to  analyse 
now.  Tear  along !  Does  your  heart  ache  ? 
Let  it ! ' 

They  drove  into  the  village  street.  In  the 
very  middle  of  it  a  good  many  peasants  were 
crowding  round  a  tavern.  Pavel  tried  to  re- 
strain Nezhdanov  ;  but  he  flew  head  over  heels 
out  of  the  cart,  and  with  a  wailing  shout  of 

*  Brothers  ! '  he  was  in  the  crowd.  ...  It  parted 
a  little ;  and  Nezhdanov  again  fell  to  preach- 
ing, looking  at  no  one,  in  a  violent  passion  as 
it  seemed,  and  almost  weeping. 

But  here  the  result  that  followed  was  quite 
different.  A  gigantic  fellow  with  a  beardless 
but  ferocious  face,  in  a  short  greasy  cape,  high 
boots,  and  a  sheepskin  cap,  went  up  to  Nezh- 
danov, and  clapping  him  on  the  shoulder  with 
all  his  might,  '  Bravo  !  you  're  a  fine  chap ! ' 
i66 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

he  bellowed  in  a  voice  of  thunder  ;  *  but  stop  a 
bit !  don't  you  know,  dry  words  scorch  the 
mouth  ?  Come  this  way !  It 's  much  handier 
talking  here.'  He  dragged  Nezhdanov  into  the 
tavern ;  the  rest  of  the  crowd  trooped  in  after 
them.  *  Miheitch  ! '  bawled  the  young  giant, 
Чоок  sharp!  two  penn'orth!  My  favourite 
tap !  I  'm  treating  a  friend  !  Who  he  is,  what 's 
his  family,  and  where  he's  from,  old  Nick 
knows,  but  he 's  laying  into  the  gentry  pretty 
hot.  Drink!'  he  said  turning  to  Nezhdanov, 
and  handing  him  a  full  heavy  glass,  moist  all 
over  the  outside  as  though  perspiring, '  drink — 
if  you  've  really  any  feeling  for  the  likes  of  us  ! ' 
*  Drink  I '  rose  a  noisy  chorus  around.  Nezh- 
danov grasped  the  pot  (he  was  in  a  sort  of 
nightmare),  shouted,  *To  your  health,  lads!' 
and  emptied  it  at  a  gulp.  Ugh  !  He  drank  it 
off  with  the  same  desperate  heroism  with  which 
he  would  have  flung  himself  on  a  storm  of 
battery  or  a  row  of  bayonets.  .  .  .  But  what 
was  happening  in  him  ?  Something  seemed  to 
dart  along  his  spine  and  down  his  legs,  to  set 
his  throat,  his  chest,  and  his  stomach  on  fire, 
to  drive  the  tears  into  his  eyes.  ...  A  shudder 
of  nausea  passed  all  over  him,  and  with  difficulty 
he  kept  it  down.  ...  He  shouted  at  the  top  of 
his  voice,  if  only  to  drown  the  throbbing  in  his 
head.  The  dark  tavern  room  seemed  suddenly 
167 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

hot,  sticky,  stifling,  full  of  crowds  of  people! 
Nezhdanov  began  talking,  talking  endlessly, 
shouting  wrathfully,  malignantly,  shaking  broad, 
horny  hands,  kissing  slobbery  beards.  .  .  .  The 
young  giant  in  the  cape  kissed  him  too,  he 
almost  crushed  his  ribs  in.  And  he  showed 
himself  a  perfect  demon.  *  I  '11  split  his  gullet 
for  him ! '  he  roared,  '  I  '11  split  his  gullet  for 
him  !  if  any  one's  rude  to  our  brother  !  or  else 
I  '11  pound  his  skull  into  a  jelly.  .  .  .  I  '11 
make  him  squeak  !  I  'm  up  to  it,  I  am  ;  I  've 
been  a  butcher ;  I  'm  a  good  hand  at  that 
sort  of  job  ! '  And  he  shook  his  huge  freckled 
fist.  .  .  .  And  then,  good  God !  some  one 
bellowed  again,  *  Drink ! '  and  again  Nezh- 
danov gulped  down  that  loathsome  poison.  But 
this  second  time  it  was  terrible !  He  seemed 
to  be  full  of  blunt  hooks  tearing  him  to  pieces 
inside.  His  head  was  on  fire,  green  circles 
were  going  round  before  his  eyes.  There  was 
a  loud  roar,  a  ringing  in  his  ears.  .  .  .  Oh,  horror! 
A  third  pot.  .  .  .  Was  it  possible  he  had 
emptied  it  ?  Purple  noses  seemed  to  creep  up 
close  and  hem  him  in,  and  dusty  heads  of  hair, 
and  tanned  necks  and  throats  ploughed  over  with 
networks  of  wrinkles.  Rough  hands  caught 
hold  of  him.  '  Hold  on  ! '  raging  voices  were 
bawling.  *  Talk  away  !  The  day  before  yester- 
day another,  a  stranger,  talked  like  that.  Go 
i68 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

on !  .  .  .'  The  earth  seem  reeling  under 
Nezhdanov's  feet.  His  own  voice  sounded 
strange  to  him,  as  if  it  came  from  a  long  way 
off.  .  .  .  Was  it  death,  or  what  ? 

And  all  of  a  sudden  ...  a  sense  of  the  fresh 
air  on  his  face,  and  no  more  hubbub,  no  red 
faces,  no  stench  of  spirits,  sheepskins,  pitch  and 
leather.  .  .  .  And  again  he  was  sitting  in  the 
cart  with  Pavel,  at  first  struggling  and  shouting, 

*  Stop  !  Where  are  you  off  to  ?  I  'd  not  time 
to  tell  them  anything,  I  must  explain  .  .  .'  then 
adding,  *  And  you  yourself,  you  sly  devil,  what 
are   your   views  ? '      To  which  Pavel   replied, 

*  It  would  be  nice  if  there  were  no  gentry,  and 
the  land  was  all  ours — what  could  be  better  ? 
but  there  *s  been  no  order  to  that  effect  so  far ' ; 
while  he  stealthily  turned  his  horse's  head,  and 
suddenly  lashing  him  on  the  back  with  the 
reins,  set  off  at  full  trot  away  from  the  din 
and  clamour  ...  to  the  factory.  .  .  . 

Nezhdanov  dozed  and  was  jolted  about,  but 
the  wind  blew  sweetly  in  his  face,  and  kept 
back  gloomy  thoughts. 

Only  he  was  vexed  that  he  had  not  been 
allowed  to  explain  himself  fully.  .  .  .  And  again 
the  wind  soothed  his  heated  face. 

And  then  the  momentary  vision  of  Marianna, 
a  momentary  burning  sense  of  disgrace,  and 
sleep,  heavy,  deathlike  sleep.  .  .  . 
169 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

All  this  Pavel  told  afterwards  to  Solomin. 
He  made  no  secret  of  the  fact  that  he  had  not 
hindered  Nezhdanov's  getting  drunk  ...  he 
could  not  have  got  him  away  else.  The  others 
wouldn't  have  let  him  go. 

*  But  there,  when  he  was  getting  quite  feeble, 
I  begged  them  with  many  bows :  "  Honest 
gentlemen,"  says  I,  "  let  the  poor  boy  go  ;  see, 
he 's  quite  young.  .  . ."  And  so  they  let  him  go. 
"  Only  give  us  half  a  rouble  for  ransom,"  says 
they.     And  so  I  gave  it  them.' 

'  Quite  right/  said  Solomin  approvingly. 

Nezhdanov  slept ;  and  Marianna  sat  at  the 
window  and  looked  into  the  little  enclosure. 
And,  strange  to  say,  the  angry,  almost  wicked 
thoughts  and  feelings  that  had  been  astir 
within  her  before  Nezhdanov's  arrival  with 
Pavel  left  her  all  at  once ;  Nezhdanov  himself 
was  far  from  being  repulsive  or  disgusting  to 
her ;  she  pitied  him.  She  knew  very  well  that 
he  was  neither  a  rake  nor  a  drunkard,  and  was 
already  pondering  what  to  say  to  him  when  he 
should  wake  up :  something  affectionate,  that 
he  might  not  be  too  much  distressed  and 
ashamed.  *  I  must  manage  so  that  he  should 
tell  of  his  own  accord  how  this  mishap  befell 
him.' 

She  was  not  excited  ;  but  she  felt  sad  .  .  . 
desperately  sad.  It  was  as  if  a  breath  had 
170 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

blown  upon  her  from  that  real  world  which  she 
had  been  struggling  to  reach  .  .  .  and  she 
shuddered  at  its  coarseness  and  darkness. 
What  Moloch  was  this  to  which  she  was  going 
to  sacrifice  herself? 

But  no !  It  could  not  be !  This  was  nothing  ; 
it  was  a  chance  event, and  would  be  over  directly. 

It  was  the  impression  of  an  instant,  which 
had  impressed  her  only  because  it  was  unex- 
pected. She  got  up,  went  to  the  sofa,  on  which 
Nezhdanov  was  lying,  passed  a  handkerchief 
over  his  pale  brow,  which  was  contracted  with 
suffering  even  in  his  sleep,  and  pushed  back 
his  hair.  .  .  . 

Again  she  felt  sorry  for  him,  as  a  mother 
pities  her  sick  child.  But  it  made  her  heart 
ache  a  little  to  look  at  him,  and  she  softly  went 
away  into  her  room,  leaving  the  door  ajar. 

She  did  not  take  up  any  work,  and  sat  down 
again,  and  again  a  mood  of  musing  came  upon 
her.  She  felt  the  time  melting  away,  minute 
after  minute  flying  past,  and  it  was  positively 
sweet  to  her  to  feel  it,  and  her  heart  beat,  and 
again  she  fell  to  waiting  for  something. 

Where  had  Solomin  got  to  ? 

The  door  creaked  softly,  and  Tatyana  came 
into  the  room. 

*  What  do  you  want  ? '  asked  Marianna  almost 
with  annoyance. 

171 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

'Marianna  Vikentyevna/  began  Tatyana  in 
an  undertone,  'look  here.  Don't  you  upset 
yourself,  for  it 's  a  thing  that  will  happen  in 
life,  and  thank  God  too ' 

'  I  'm  not  the  least  upset,  Tatyana  Osipovna/ 
Marianna  cut  her  short.  '  Alexey  Dmitritch 
isn't  quite  well;  it's  of  no  great  consequence  !  .  .  .' 

*  Well,  now,  that 's  first-rate  !  But  here  have 
I  been  thinking,  my  Marianna  Vikentyevna 
doesn't  come,  what 's  wrong  with  her,  thinks 
I  ?  But  for  all  that  I  wouldn't  have  come  in 
to  you,  for  in  such  cases  the  first  rule  is  "  mind 
your  own  business  ! "  Only  here  's  some  one — 
I  don't  know  who — come  to  the  factory.  A 
little  man  like  this,  and  a  bit  lame ;  and 
nothing  '11  content  him  but  to  get  at  Alexey 
Dmitritch  !  It  seems  so  queer ;  this  morning 
that  female  came  asking  for  him  .  .  .  and  now 
here 's  this  lame  man.  "  And  if,"  says  he, 
"  Alexey  Dmitritch  's  not  here,"  we  're  to  let 
him  see  Vassily  Fedotitch  !  "  I  won't  go  with- 
out," says  he,  "  for,"  says  he,  "  it 's  very  impor- 
tant business."  We  try  to  pack  him  off  like  that 
female ;  tell  him  Vassily  Fedotitch  isn't  here 
.  .  .  has  gone  away,  but  this  lame  man  keeps 
on,  "  I  'm  not  going,"  says  he,  "  if  I  've  to  wait 
till  midnight.  .  .  ."  So  he 's  walking  in  the 
yard.  Here,  come  this  way  into  the  passage ; 
you  can  see  him  from  the  window.  .  .  ,  Can 
172 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

you  tell  me  what  sort  of  a  fine  gentleman 
he  is  ? ' 

Marianna  followed  Tatyana — she  had  to 
pass  close  by  Nezhdanov — and  again  she 
noticed  his  brow  contracted  painfully,  and 
again  she  passed  her  handkerchief  over  it. 
Through  the  dusty  window-pane  she  caught 
sight  of  the  visitor,  of  whom  Tatyana  had  been 
speaking.  He  was  a  stranger  to  her.  But  at 
that  very  instant  Solomin  came  into  sight 
round  the  corner  of  the  house. 

The  Httle  lame  man  went  rapidly  to  him, 
and  held  out  his  hand.  Solomin  took  it.  He 
obviously  knew  the  man.  Both  of  them 
vanished.  ... 

But  now  their  steps  could  be  heard  on  the 
stairs.  .  .  .  They  were  coming  up.  .  .  . 

Marianna  went  back  hurriedly  into  her  room 
and  stood  still  in  the  middle,  hardly  able  to 
breathe.  She  felt  dread  ...  of  what?  She 
did  not  know. 

Solomin's  head  appeared  in  the  doorway. 

'Marianna  Vikentyevna,  allow  us  to  come 
in  to  you.  I  have  brought  a  person  whom 
it 's  absolutely  necessary  for  you  to  see.' 

Marianna  merely  nodded  in  reply,  and  behind 
Solomin  in  walked — Paklin. 


173 


XXXIII 

'I'm  a  friend  of  your  husband's/  he  said, 
bowing  low  to  Marianna  and  trying,  as  it 
seemed,  to  conceal  his  scared  and  excited  face ; 
*  I  'm  a  friend,  too,  of  Vassily  Fedotitch's. 
Alexey  Dmitritch  is  asleep ;  he  is,  I  hear, 
unwell ;  and  I  have  unfortunately  brought  bad 
news,  which  I  have  already  communicated  in 
part  to  Vassily  Fedotitch,  and  in  consequence 
of  which  decisive  measures  must  be  taken.' 

Paklin's  voice  broke  continually,  like  that  of 
a  man  who  is  parched  and  tortured  by  thirst. 
The  news  he  brought  was  really  very  bad ! 
Markelov  had  been  seized  by  the  peasants  and 
carried  off  to  the  town.  The  stupid  clerk 
had  betrayed  Golushkin ;  he  had  been  arrested. 
He,  in  his  turn,  was  betraying  everything  and 
every  one,  was  eager  to  go  over  to  orthodoxy, 
was  offering  to  present  the  high  school  with 
the  portrait  of  the  bishop  Filaret,  and  had 
already  forwarded  five  thousand  roubles  for 
distribution  among  *  crippled  soldiers.'  There 
174 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

was  not  a  shadow  of  doubt  that  he  had  betrayed 
Nezhdanov  ;  the  police  might  make  a  raid  upon 
the  factory  any  minute.  Vassily  Fedotitch,  too, 
was  in  some  danger.  *  As  far  as  I  'm  con- 
cerned/ added  Paklin,  *  I  *m  surprised  really 
that  I  'm  still  walking  about  at  liberty ;  though 
to  be  sure  I  have  never  taken  any  part  pre- 
cisely in  politics  and  had  no  hand  in  any  plans. 
I  have  taken  advantage  of  this  forgetfulness  or 
oversight  on  the  part  of  the  police  to  warn  you 
and  consult  you  as  to  what  means  may  be 
employed  ...  to  avert  all  unpleasantness.* 

Marianna  heard  Paklin  to  the  end.  She  was 
not  frightened — she  even  remained  perfectly 
serene.  .  .  .  But  to  be  sure,  some  steps  would 
have  to  be  taken  !  Her  first  action  was  to  look 
to  Solomin. 

He,  too,  seemed  composed  ;  only  the  muscles 
were  faintly  twitching  about  his  lips,  with  some- 
thing unlike  his  habitual  smile. 

He  understood  what  her  look  meant;  she 
was  waiting  for  him  to  say  what  steps  were  to 
be  taken. 

*  It 's  rather  a  ticklish  business,  certainly,'  he 
began  ;  *  it  would  be  as  well,  I  imagine,  for 
Nezhdanov  to  keep  in  hiding  for  a  time.  By 
the  way,  how  did  you  learn  that  he  was  here, 
Mr.  Paklin?' 

Paklin  waved  his  hand. 
175 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

*An  individual  told  me.  He'd  seen  him 
wandering  about  the  neighbourhood  making 
propaganda.  Well,  he  kept  an  eye  on  him, 
though  with  no  evil  intent.  He  is  a  sym- 
pathiser. Pardon  me/  he  added,  turning  to 
Marianna,  *but  really,  our  friend  Nezhdanov 
has  been  very  .  .  .  very  indiscreet/ 

'  It 's  no  use  blaming  him  now,'  Solomin 
began  again.  *  It 's  a  pity  we  can't  talk  things 
over  with  him ;  but  his  indisposition  will  be 
over  by  to-morrow,  and  the  police  are  not  so 
rapid  in  their  movements  as  you  imagine. 
You,  too,  Marianna  Vikentyevna,  ought  to  go 
away  with  him,  I  suppose.' 

*  Undoubtedly,'  Marianna  replied,  thickly  but 
resolutely. 

*  Yes,'  said  Solomin.  *  We  shall  have  to  think 
things  over ;  we  shall  have  to  find  ways  and 
means.' 

'  Allow  me  to  lay  one  idea  before  you,'  began 
Paklin ;  '  the  idea  entered  my  head  as  I  came 
in  here.  I  hasten  to  observe  that  I  dismissed 
the  cabman  from  the  town,  a  mile  away/ 

*  What  is  your  idea  ? '  asked  Solomin. 

*  I  '11  tell  you.  Let  me  have  horses  at  once 
.  .  .  and  I  will  gallop  off  to  the  Sipyagins/ 

'  To  the  Sipyagins  ! '  repeated  Marianna.  .  .  . 
*  What  for?' 
'  You  shall  hear/ 

176 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

*  But  do  you  know  them  ?  * 

*  Not  in  the  least !  But  listen.  Consider  my 
proposition  thoroughly.  It  seems  to  me  simply 
a  stroke  of  genius.  You  see,  Markelov's  Sip- 
yagin's  brother-in-law,  his  wife's  brother.  Isn't 
that  so  ?  Is  it  possible  that  gentleman  will  do 
nothing  to  save  him  ?  And  moreover,  Nezh- 
danov  himself!  Granting  that  Mr.  Sipyagin 
is  angry  with  him.  .  .  .  Still,  you  see,  for  all 
that,  Nezhdanov  has  become  a  relation  of  his 
by  marrying  you.  And  the  danger  hanging 
over  our  friend's  head ' 

*  I  'm  not  married,'  observed  Marianna. 
Paklin  positively  started. 

*  What  ?  Not  managed  that  all  this  time ! 
Well,  never  mind,'  he  went  on ;  '  one  can  fib 
a  little.  It 's  just  the  same  thing ;  you  're 
going  to  be  married  directly.  Indeed,  one 
can't  devise  any  other  plan !  Take  into 
consideration  the  fact  that  Sipyagin  up  till  now 
has  not  gone  so  far  as  to  persecute  you.  Con- 
sequently, he  has  a  certain  .  .  .  magnanimity. 
I  see  that  expression  's  not  to  your  taste ;  let 's 
say,  a  certain  affectation  of  generosity.  Why 
shouldn't  we  utilise  it  in  the  present  case? 
Think  of  it!' 

Marianna  raised  her  head  and  passed  her 
hand  over  her  hair. 

*  You  may  utilise  what  you  please  for  Mar- 
voL.  II.  177  M 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

kelov's  benefit,  Mr.  Paklin  ...  or  for  your 
own ;  but  Alexey  and  I  desire  neither  the 
protection  nor  the  patronage  of  Mr.  Sipyagin. 
We  did  not  leave  his  house  to  go  knock- 
ing at  his  door  as  beggars.  We  will  owe 
nothing  either  to  the  magnanimity  nor  the 
affectation  of  generosity  of  Mr.  Sipyagin  or  his 
wife ! ' 

'Those  are  most  praiseworthy  sentiments/ 
responded  Paklin  (but,  '  My  !  that 's  a  nice  wet 
blanket ! '  was  his  inward  comment),  '  though, 
on  the  other  hand,  if  you  come  to  reflect  .  .  . 
However,  I  am  ready  to  obey  you.  I  will 
exert  myself  on  Markelov's  account,  our  dear, 
good  Markelov  only  !  I  venture  only  to  observe 
that  he  is  not  his  blood  relation,  but  only  re- 
lated to  him  through  his  wife,  while  you * 

*  Mr.  Paklin,  I  beg  you ! ' 

*  Oh,  yes  .  .  .  yes !  But  I  can't  refrain  from 
expressing  my  regret,  for  Sipyagin  is  a  man  of 
great  influence.' 

*  So  you  've  no  fears  for  yourself? '  queried 
Solomin. 

Paklin  straightened  his  chest. 

*At  such  moments  one  must  not  think  of 
oneself,'  he  said  proudly.  And  all  the  while, 
it  was  just  of  himself  he  was  thinking.  He 
wanted  (poor,  feeble  little  creature !)  to  be  the 
first  in  the  field,  as  the  saying  is.  On  the 
178 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

Strength  of  the  service  rendered  him,  Sipyagin 
might,  if  need  arose,  speak  a  word  for  him. 
For  as  a  fact,  he  too — say  what  he  would — was 
implicated ;  he  had  listened  .  .  ,  and  even 
gone  chattering  about  himself. 

*  I  think  your  idea  's  not  a  bad  one,'  observed 
Solomin  at  last,  'though  I  put  little  confidence 
in  its  success.  Any  way,  you  can  try.  You 
will  do  no  harm.' 

*  Of  course  not.  Come,  supposing  the  very 
worst ;  suppose  they  kick  me  out.  .  .  .  What 
harm  will  that  do  ? ' 

*  There  '11  certainly  be  no  harm  in  that.  .  .  .* 
QMerci! '  thought  Paklin.)  While  Solomin  went 
on  :  '  What  o'clock  is  it  ?  Five  o'clock.  No 
time  to  waste.  You  shall  have  the  horses 
directly.     Pavel ! ' 

But  instead  of  Pavel,  on  the  threshold  they 
saw  Nezhdanov.  He  staggered,  steadying  him- 
self on  the  doorpost,  and  opening  his  mouth 
feebly,  stared  with  bewildered  eyes,  com- 
prehending nothing. 

Paklin  was  the  first  to  approach  him. 

*Alyosha! '  he  cried,  'you  know  me,  don't  you?' 

Nezhdanov  gazed  at  him,  blinking  slowly. 

*  Paklin  ? '  he  said  at  last. 

*  Yes,  yes  ;  it 's  I.     You  are  not  well  ? ' 
*Yes  ...  I  'm  not  well.     But  .  .  .  why  are 

you  here  ? ' 

179 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

*  I  'm  here  .  .  .'  But  at  that  instant  Mari- 
anna  stealthily  touched  Paklin  on  the  elbow. 
He  looked  round,  and  saw  she  was  making  signs 
to  him.  .  .  .  '  Ah,  yes  ! '  he  muttered.  '  Yes 
...  to  be  sure !  Well,  do  you  see,  Alyosha/ 
he  added  aloud,  *  I  've  come  on  important  busi- 
ness, and  must  go  on  further  at  once.  .  .  . 
Solomin  will  tell  you  all  about  it — and  Marianna 
.  .  .  Marianna  Vikentyevna.  They  both  fully 
approve  of  my  plan — it 's  a  matter  that  concerns 
us  all :  that  is,  no,  no,'  he  interpolated  hurriedly 
in  response  to  a  gesture  and  a  glance  from  Mari- 
anna. .  .  .  *  It 's  a  matter  concerning  Markelov, 
our  common  friend  Markelov  ;  him  alone.  But 
now,  good-bye  !  Every  minute  's  precious — 
good-bye,  friend.  .  .  .  We  shall  meet  again. 
Vassily  Fedotitch,  will  you  come  with  me  to 
give  orders  about  the  horses  ?  ' 

*  Certainly.  Marianna,  I  'd  meant  to  say  to 
you,  keep  up  your  spirits  !  But  there 's  no 
need.     You  're  the  real  thing ! ' 

*  Oh,  yes  !  oh,  yes  ! '  chimed  in  Paklin:  *  you're 
a  Roman  woman  of  the  time  of  Cato  !  Cato  of 
Utica!  But  come  along,  Vassily  Fedotitch, 
let  us  go  ! ' 

*  You  've  plenty  of  time,'  observed  Solomin 
with  a  lazy  smile.  Nezhdanov  moved  a  little 
aside  to  let  them  both  pass.  .  .  .  But  there  was 
still  the  same  uncomprehending   look   in   his 

i8o 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

eyes.  Then  he  took  two  steps,  and  slowly  sat 
down  on  a  chair  facing  Marianna. 

'  Alexey,'  she  said  to  him,  *  everything  is 
discovered ;  Markelov  has  been  seized  by  the 
peasants  he  was  trying  to  incite ;  he  's  under 
arrest  in  the  town,  and  so  is  that  merchant  you 
dined  with  ;  most  likely  the  police  will  soon  be 
here  after  us.     Paklin  has  gone  to  Sipyagin.' 

*What  for?'  muttered  Nezhdanov,  hardly 
audibly.  But  his  eyes  grew  clearer,  his  face 
regained  its  ordinary  expression.  The  stupor 
had  left  him  instantly. 

*  To  try  whether  he  will  intercede.* 
Nezhdanov    drew    himself    up.    .    .   .   *For 

us?' 

*  No ;  for  Markelov.  He  wanted  to  beg  for 
us  too  .  .  .  but  I  would  not  let  him.  Did  I  do 
right,  Alexey  ? ' 

*  Right?'  said  Nezhdanov,  and  without  get- 
ting up  from  his  chair,  he  held  out  his  hands  to 
her.  *  Right  ?  '  he  repeated,  and,  drawing  her 
close  to  him  and  hiding  his  face  against  her,  he 
suddenly  burst  into  tears. 

*  What  is  it,  dear  ?  what  is  it  ? '  cried  Mari- 
anna. Now,  too,  as  on  that  day  when  he  had 
fallen  on  his  knees  before  her,  faint  and  breath- 
less with  a  sudden  torrent  of  passion,  she  laid 
her  two  hands  on  his  trembling  head. 

But  what  she  felt  now  was  not  at  all  what 
i8i 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

she  had  felt  then.  Then  she  had  given  herself 
up  to  him.  She  had  submitted,  and  simply 
waited  for  what  he  would  say  to  her.  Now 
she  pitied  him,  and  thought  of  nothing  but  how 
to  comfort  him. 

*  What  is  it,  dear  ?  '  she  said.  *  What  are  you 
crying  for?  Surely  not  because  you  came 
home  in  rather  ...  a  strange  state!  That 
can't  be !  Or  are  you  sorry  for  Markelov,  and 
afraid  for  me  and  you  ?  Or  are  you  grieving 
for  our  shattered  hopes  ?  You  didn't  expect 
everything  to  run  smoothly,  you  know  ! ' 

Nezhdanov  suddenly  raised  his  head. 

*  No,  Marianna,'  he  said,  gulping  down  his 
sobs,  *  I  'm  not  afraid  for  you  nor  for  myself. 
.  .  .  But  yes  ...  I  am  sorry ' 

*  For  whom  ? ' 

*  For  you,  Marianna  !  I  'm  sorry  you  have 
bound  up  your  life  with  a  man  unworthy  of  it' 

'  Why  so  ? ' 

*  Well,  if  only  because  he  can  be  shedding 
tears  at  such  a  moment ! ' 

*  It 's  not  you  weeping ;  it  *s  your  nerves ! ' 

'  My  nerves  and  I  are  all  one  !  Come,  Mari- 
anna, look  me  in  the  face :  can  you  really  say 
now  that  you  don't  regret  ,  ,  .' 

'What?' 

'  That  you  ran  away  with  me  ? ' 

*No.' 

182 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

*  And  will  you  go  further  with  me  ?  Every- 
where ? ' 

*Yes!' 

*Yes?  Marianna  .  .  .  Yes?* 

*Yes.  I  have  given  you  my  word,  and  so 
long  as  you  are  the  man  I  loved,  I  will  not 
take  it  back.' 

Nezhdanov  went  on  sitting  in  his  chair; 
Marianna  stood  before  him.  His  arms  lay 
about  her  waist ;  her  hands  rested  on  his 
shoulders.  'Yes,  no,'  thought  Nezhdanov 
,  .  .  *but  yet — before,  when  it  was  my  lot  to 
hold  her  in  my  arms,  just  as  at  this  moment, 
her  body  was  at  least  motionless ;  but  now,  I 
feel  it  gently  and  perhaps  against  her  will 
shrink  away  from  me  ! '  He  loosened  his  arms 
.  .  .  Marianna  did,  in  fact,  scarcely  perceptibly 
draw  back. 

*  I  tell  you  what ! '  he  said  aloud,  *  if  we  must 
run  away  .  .  .  before  the  police  discover  us  .  , . 
I  suppose  it  would  be  as  well  for  us  to  be 
married  first.  Most  likely  we  shouldn't  meet 
with  such  an  accommodating  priest  as  Zosim 
anywhere  else ! ' 

*  I  'm  ready,'  said  Marianna. 
Nezhdanov  looked  intently  at  her. 

*  Roman  maiden!'  he  said  with  an  evil  half- 
smile.     *  What  a  sense  of  duty ! ' 

Marianna  shrugged  her  shoulders, 
183 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

*  We  must  speak  to  Solomin.* 

*Yes  .  .  .  Solomin  .  .  .' Nezhdanov  drawled. 

*  But  he  too,  I  suppose,  is  in  some  danger.  The 
police  will  seize  him  too.  It  strikes  me  he  has 
done  more  and  known  more  about  it  than  I.' 

*  I  know  nothing  about  that,'  said  Marianna. 

*  He  never  talks  about  himself.' 

*  Unlike  me  in  that ! '  thought  Nezhdanov. 
'  That  was  what  she  meant !  Solomin  .  .  . 
Solomin,'  he  repeated  after  a  long  silence.  '  Do 
you  know,  Marianna,  I  should  not  pity  you,  if 
the  man  with  whom  you  had  linked  your  life 
for  ever  had  been  like  Solomin  ...  or  had 
been  Solomin  himself 

Marianna,  in  her  turn,  looked  intently  at 
Nezhdanov. 

*You  had  no  right  to  say  that,'  she  said 
finally. 

*  I  'd  no  right !  How  am  I  to  understand 
those  words  ?  Do  they  mean  that  you  love  me  ? 
or  that  I  ought  not  any  way  to  touch  on  that 
question  ? ' 

*  You  had  no  right  to  say  it,'  repeated  Mari- 
anna. 

Nezhdanov's  head  drooped. 
'  Marianna  ! '  he  articulated  in  a  somewhat 
changed  voice. 
*Well?' 

*  If  I  were  now  ...  if  I  put  you  that  ques- 

184 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

tion — you  know  ?  .  . .  No,  I  ask  nothing  of  you 
,  .  .  good-bye/ 

He  got  up  and  went  out ;  Marianna  did  not 
try  to  keep  him.  Nezhdanov  sat  down  on  the 
sofa  and  hid  his  face  in  his  hands.  He  was 
frightened  by  his  own  thoughts,  and  tried  not  to 
think.  He  had  one  feeling  only,  that  a  sort 
of  dark,  underground  hand  seemed  to  have 
clutched  at  the  very  root  of  his  being,  and 
would  not  let  him  go.  He  knew  that  that 
sweet,  precious  woman  he  had  left  in  the  next 
room  would  not  come  out  to  him  ;  and  he  dared 
not  go  in  to  her.  And  what  would  be  the  use  ? 
What  could  he  say  ? 

Rapid,  resolute  footsteps  made  him  open  his 
eyes. 

Solomin  walked  across  his  room,  and,  knock- 
ing at  Marianna's  door,  went  in. 

'  Make  way  for  your  betters ! '  muttered 
Nezhdanov  in  a  bitter  whisper. 


185 


XXXIV 

It  was  ten  o'clock  in  the  evening  in  the  draw- 
ing-room of  the  mansion  of  Arzhano.  Sipyagin, 
his  wife,  and  Kallomyetsev  were  playing  cards, 
when  a  footman  came  in  and  announced  the 
arrival  of  a  stranger,  Mr.  Paklin,  who  wanted 
to  see  Boris  Andreitch  on  the  most  urgent  and 
important  business. 

*  So  late ! '  wondered  Valentina  Mihalovna. 

'  Eh  ? '  queried  Boris  Andreitch,  wrinkling  up 
his  handsome  nose.  'What  did  you  say  was 
the  gentleman's  name  ? ' 

*  He  said  Paklin,  sir.* 

*  Paklin  ! '  cried  Kallomyetsev.  *  A  truly 
rural  name.  Paklin  '  {i.e.  stuffing)  '.  .  .  Solomin  ' 
(i.e.  strawing)  *.  .  .  De  vrais  noms  ruraux^  hein  ? ' 

*And  you  say,'  pursued  Boris  Andreitch, 
turning  to  the  footman  with  the  same  expres- 
sion of  displeasure,  'that  his  business  is  im- 
portant, urgent  ? ' 

*  So  the  gentleman  says,  sir.* 

*  H'm  . .  .  some  beggar  or  swindler  *  (*  Or  both 

1 86 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

together/  put  in  Kallomyetsev).  '  Quite  likely. 
Ask  him  into  my  study/  Boris  Andreitch  got 
up.  *  Pardon,  ma  bonne.  Have  a  game  of  ecarte 
while  I  'm  gone,  or  wait  for  me.  I  '11  be  back 
directly/ 

*  Nous  causerons  .  .  .  allez  !  *  said  Kallom- 
yetsev. When  Sipyagin  came  into  his  study 
and  saw  Paklin's  pitiful,  feeble  little  figure 
meekly  huddled  against  the  wall  between  the 
fireplace  and  the  door,  he  was  seized  with  that 
truly  ministerial  sensation  of  lofty  compassion 
and  fastidious  condescension  so  characteristic 
of  the  Petersburg  higher  official. 

*  Mercy  on  us  !  What  a  poor  little  plucked 
bird  ! '  he  thought,  *  and  I  do  believe  he 's  lame 
too  ! ' 

'  Be  seated,'  he  said  aloud,  giving  vent  to  the 
benevolent  baritone  notes  of  his  voice,  and 
affably  throwing  back  his  little  head  ;  and  he 
took  a  seat  before  his  visitor. 

*  You  are  tired  from  your  journey,  I  presume ; 
take  a  seat,  and  let  me  hear  what  is  the  im- 
portant business  that  has  brought  you  to  me 
so  late.* 

*Your  Excellency,'  began  Paklin,  dropping 
discreetly  into  a  chair, '  I  have  made  bold  to 
come  to  you ' 

*  Wait  a  bit,  wait  a  bit,'  Sipyagin  interrupted 
him ;  *  I  've  seen  you  before.     I  never  forget  a 

187 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

face  I  have  once  met ;  I  always  recollect  it 
Eh  ...  eh  .  .  .  eh  .  .  .  precisely  .  .  .  where 
have  I  met  you  ? ' 

*  You  are  right,  your  Excellency.  ...  I  had 
the  honour  of  meeting  you  in  Petersburg  at  a 
person's  who  .  .  .  who  .  .  .  since  then  .  .  .  has 
unfortunately  ...  incurred  your  displeasure.* 

Sipyagin  got  up  quickly  from  his  chair. 

*  At  Mr.  Nezhdanov's !  I  remember  now. 
Surely  you  haven't  come  from  him  ? ' 

*  Oh,  no,  your  Excellency  ;  quite  the  contrary 
.  .  .  I  .  .  .' 

Sipyagin  sat  down  again. 

*  That 's  as  well.  For  in  that  case  I  would 
promptly  have  asked  you  to  leave  the  house. 
I  can  give  no  admittance  to  any  mediator 
between  me  and  Mr.  Nezhdanov.  Mr.  Nezh- 
danov  has  shown  me  one  of  those  affronts 
which  are  not  forgotten.  ...  I  am  above  re- 
venge, but  I  wish  to  know  nothing  of  him,  nor 
of  the  girl — more  depraved  in  mind  than  in 
heart '  (this  phrase  Sipyagin  must  have  repeated 
thirty  times  since  Marianna's  flight) — 'who  could 
bring  herself  to  leave  the  home  where  she  had 
been  cared  for  to  become  the  mistress  of  a  base- 
born  adventurer !  It 's  enough  for  them  that  I 
consent  to  forget  them  !  * 

At  this  last  word  Sipyagin  made  a  downward 
motion  of  his  wrist  away  from  him. 
i88 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

'  I  forget  them,  sir !  * 

*  Your  Excellency,  I  have  already  submitted 
to  you  that  I  have  not  come  here  from  them, 
though  I  may  nevertheless  inform  your  Ex- 
cellency, among  other  things,  that  they  are 
already  joined  in  the  bonds  of  lawful  matri- 
mony.' .  .  .  (*  There,  it 's  all  one ! '  thought 
Paklin ;  *  I  said  I  'd  lie  a  bit  here,  and  I  'm 
lying.     Here  goes  ! ') 

Sipyagin  moved  his  head  restlessly  to  right 
and  left  against  the  back  of  his  easy-chair. 

*  That  is  a  matter  of  no  interest  to  me,  sir. 
One  foolish  marriage  the  more  in  the  world, 
that's  all.  But  what  is  this  most  urgent 
business  to  which  I  am  indebted  for  the 
pleasure  of  your  visit  ? ' 

*  Ugh !  the  damned  director  of  a  depart- 
ment ! '  Paklin  thought  again.  '  That 's  enough 
of  your  airs  and  graces,  you  ugly  English 
monkey-face.* 

'Your  wife's  brother,'  he  said  aloud — *Mr. 
Markelov — has  been  seized  by  the  peasants 
he  had  meant  to  incite  to  insurrection,  and  is 
now  in  custody  in  the  governor's  house/ 

Sipyagin  jumped  up  a  second  time. 

'  What . .  .  what  did  you  say  ?  '  he  stammered, 
not  at  all  in  his  ministerial  baritone,  but  in  a 
sort  of  piteous  guttural. 

*  I  said  your  brother-in-law  had  been  seized 

189 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

and  IS  in  chains.  Directly  I  learned  this  fact,  I 
took  horses  and  came  to  warn  you.  I  imagined 
that  I  might  be  rendering  a  service  both  to  you 
and  to  that  unfortunate  man  whom  you  may 
be  able  to  save  ! ' 

*I  am  much  obliged  to  you,'  said  Sipyagin 
in  the  same  feeble  voice ;  and  with  a  violent 
blow  on  a  bell  shaped  like  a  mushroom,  he 
filled  the  whole  house  with  its  clear,  metallic 
ring.  *  I  am  much  obliged  to  you,'  he  repeated 
more  sharply ;  '  though  let  me  tell  you,  a  man 
who  has  trampled  underfoot  every  law,  human 
and  divine,  were  he  a  hundred  times  my  kins- 
man, is  in  my  eyes  not  to  be  pitied ;  he  is  a 
criminal ! ' 

A  footman  darted  into  the  room. 

*  Your  orders,  sir?' 

*  The  coach !  This  minute  the  coach  and 
four!  I  am  driving  to  the  town.  Filip  and 
Stepan  to  come  with  me ! '  The  footman 
darted  out.  'Yes,  sir,  my  brother-in-law  is  a 
criminal ;  and  I  am  driving  to  the  town,  not 
to  save  him  !     Oh,  no ! ' 

*  But,  your  Excellency  .  .  .* 

'  Such  are  my  principles,  sir ;  and  I  beg  you 
not  to  trouble  me  with  objections  ! ' 

Sipyagin  fell  to  walking  up  and  down  the 
room,  while  Paklin's  eyes  grew  round  as  saucers. 
*  Ugh,  you  devil ! '  he  was  thinking  ;  *  and  you 
190 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

call  yourself  a  liberal !  Why,  you  Ve  a  roaring 
lion  ! '  The  door  opened,  and  with  quick  steps 
there  entered  first  Valentina  Mihalovna,  and 
behind  her  Kallomyetsev. 

*What  is  the  meaning  of  this,  Boris?  you 
have  ordered  the  coach  out  ?  you  are  going  to 
the  town  ?  what  has  happened  ? ' 

Sipyagin  went  up  to  his  wife,  and  took  her 
by  her  arm,  between  the  wrist  and  the  elbow. 
*  //  faut  vous  armer  de  courage^  ma  chere.  Your 
brother  is  arrested.' 

'  My  brother  ?     Sergei  ?     What  for  ? ' 

*  He  has  been  preaching  Socialistic  theories 
to  the  peasants  ! '  (Kallomyetsev  gave  vent  to 
a  faint  whistle.)  *  Yes  !  He  has  been  preaching 
revolution !  he  has  been  making  propaganda ! 
They  seized  him,  and  gave  him  up.  Now  he  *s 
— in  the  town.' 

*  The  madman !  But  who  has  told  you 
this?' 

'Mr.  .  .  .  Mr.  .  .  .  what's  his  name?  Mr. 
Konopatin  brought  this  news.' 

Valentina  Mihalovna  glanced  at  Paklin.  He 
gave  a  forlorn  bow.  '  My !  what  an  elegant 
female ! '  was  his  thought.  Even  at  such  painful 
moments  .  .  .  alas,  how  susceptible  was  poor 
Paklin  to  feminine  charms  ! 

*  And  you  mean  to  go  to  the  town — so  late  ? 

*  I  shall  find  the  governor  still  up.' 

191 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

*  I  always  predicted  that  it  must  end  so/  put 
in  Kallomyetsev.  *  It  could  not  be  otherwise ! 
But  what  splendid  chaps  our  Russian  peasants 
are !  Delightful !  Pardon^  madame^  dest  votre 
frere  !    Mais  la  verite  avant  tout ! ' 

*  Can  you  really  mean  to  go,  Boris  ? '  asked 
Valentina  Mihalovna. 

'  I  'm  convinced  too/  continued  Kallomyet- 
sev, *  that  that  fellow  too,  that  tutor,  Mr.  Nezh- 
danov,  has  had  a  hand  in  it.  fen  mettrais  ma 
main  au  feu.  They  're  all  in  one  boat !  Has 
he  been  caught  ?     You  don't  know  ? ' 

Again  Sipyagin  made  a  downward  gesture 
from  his  wrist. 

*I  don't  know,  and  I  don't  want  to  know! 
By  the  way,'  he  added,  turning  to  his  wife,  *  il 
parait  qu'ils  sont  maries! 

*  Who  said  so  ?  The  same  gentleman  ?  * 
Valentina  Mihalovna  again  looked  at  Paklin, 
but  this  time  she  screwed  up  her  eyes  as  she 
did  so. 

*Yes.' 

*In  that  case/  put  in  Kallomyetsev,  *he 
knows  where  they  are  for  a  certainty.  Do  you 
know  where  they  are?  Do  you  know  where 
they  are  ?  Eh  ?  eh  ?  eh  ?  Do  you  know  ? ' 
Kallomyetsev  began  pacing  up  and  down 
before  Paklin,  as  though  to  bar  the  way  to 
him,  though  the  latter  showed  not  the  faintest 
192 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

inclination  to  escape.    *  Speak !    Answer !    Eh  ? 
Eh  ?     Do  you  know  ?     Do  you  know  ? ' 

*  If  I  did  know/  Paklin  said  with  annoyance 
— his  wrath  was  stirred  at  last  and  his  little 
eyes  flashed — *  if  I  did  know,  I  should  not  tell 
you/ 

*  Oh  .  .  .  oh  .  .  .  oh ! '  muttered  Kallom- 
yetsev.  *  You  hear  .  .  .  you  hear  !  Why,  this 
fellow,  too  .  .  .  this  fellow,  too,  must  be  one  of 
their  gang !  * 

'  The  coach  is  ready  ! '  a  footman  announced. 
Sipyagin  seized  his  hat  with  a  graceful,  resolute 
gesture  ;  but  Valentina  Mihalovna  begged  him 
with  such  insistence  to  put  off  going  till  next 
morning  —  she  laid  before  him  such  cogent 
reasons,  the  darkness  on  the  road,  and  every 
one  would  be  asleep  in  the  town,  and  he  would 
merely  be  upsetting  his  nerves  and  might  catch 
cold — that  Sipyagin  at  last  was  persuaded  by 
her,  and  exclaiming,  '  I  obey  ! '  with  a  gesture 
as  graceful,  but  no  longer  resolute,  he  laid  his 
hat  on  the  table. 

*  Take  out  the  horses ! '  he  commanded  the 
footman  ;  *  but  to-morrow  at  six  in  the  morning 
precisely,  let  them  be  ready !  Do  you  hear  ? 
You  can  go !  Stop !  The  visitor  .  .  .  the 
gentleman's  conveyance  can  be  dismissed! 
Pay  the  man !  Eh  ?  I  fancy  you  spoke,  Mr. 
Konopatin  ?     I  '11  take  you  with  me  to-morrow, 

VOL  11  193  N 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

Mr.  Konopatin !  What  do  you  say  ?  I  don't 
hear.  .  .  .  You  will  take  some  vodka,  I  dare 
say  ?  Some  vodka  for  Mr.  Konopatin  !  No ! 
You  don't  drink  it?  In  that  case,  Fyodor, 
show    the    gentleman    to    the    green     room ! 

Good-night,  Mr.  Kono ' 

Paklin  lost  all  patience  at  last. 

*  Paklin  ! '  he  roared,  '  my  name  is  Paklin !  * 

*  Yes,  yes  ;  well,  that 's  much  the  same.  It 's 
not  unlike,  you  know.  But  what  a  powerful 
voice  you  have  for  one  of  your  build  !  Good- 
night, Mr.  Paklin.  .  .  .  I  've  got  it  right  now, 
eh  ?     Shnion,  vous  viendrez  avec  nous  ?  * 

^/e  crois  Men  ! ' 

And  Paklin  was  led  off  to  the  green  room. 
And  he  was  even  locked  in  there.  As  he  got 
into  bed,  he  heard  the  key  turn  in  the  ringing 
English  lock.  Violently  he  swore  at  himself 
for  his  *  stroke  of  genius/  and  he  slept  very 
badly. 

Early  next  morning,  at  half-past  five,  he  was 
called.  Coffee  was  handed  him ;  while  he 
drank  it,  a  footman  with  embroidered  shoulder- 
knots  waited  with  the  tray  in  his  hands,  and 
shifted  from  one  leg  to  the  other,  as  though  he 
would  say,  *  Hurry  up,  you  're  keeping  the 
gentlemen  waiting  ! '  Then  he  was  conducted 
downstairs.  The  coach  was  already  standing 
before  the  house.  There,  too,  was  Kallom- 
194 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

yetsev's  open  carriage.  Sipyagin  made  his 
appearance  on  the  steps  in  a  camel's-hair  cloak 
with  a  round  collar.  Such  cloaks  had  not  been 
worn  for  many  years  except  by  a  certain  very 
important  dignitary  whom  Sipyagin  was  trying 
to  please  and  to  imitate.  On  important  official 
occasions,  therefore,  he  wore  such  a  cloak. 

Sipyagin  greeted  Paklin  fairly  affably,  and 
with  an  energetic  gesture  motioned  him  to  the 
coach  and  asked  him  to  take  his  seat.  *  Mr. 
Paklin,  you  will  come  with  me,  Mr.  Paklin ! 
Put  Mr.  Paklin's  bag  on  the  box  !  I  am  taking 
Mr.  Paklin  ! '  he  said,  with  an  emphasis  on  the 
word  Paklin,  and  an  accent  on  the  letter  a,  as 
though  he  would  say,  '  You  've  a  name  like  that 
and  presume  to  feel  insulted  when  people  change 
it  for  you  !  There  you  are,  then  !  Take  plenty 
of  it !  I  '11  give  you  as  much  as  you  want ! 
Mr.  Paklin !  Paklin ! '  The  unlucky  name 
kept  resounding  in  the  keen  morning  air. 
It  was  so  keen  as  to  set  Kallomyetsev,  who 
came  out  after  Sipyagin,  muttering  several 
times  in  French,  *  B-r-r-r !  B-r-r-r !  B-r-r-r ! '  and 
wrapping  himself  more  closely  in  his  cloak 
he  seated  himself  in  his  elegant  open  carriage. 
(His  poor  friend  the  Servian  prince,  Mihal 
Obrenovitch,  on  seeing  it  had  bought  one 
exactly  like  it  at  Binder's  .  .  .  vous  savez 
Binder^  le  grand  carrossier  des  Champs-Elyseesf) 
195 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

From  the  half-open  shutters  of  a  bedroom 
Valentina  Mihalovna  peeped  out  *  in  the  trail- 
ing garments  of  the  night/  as  the  poet  has  it. 

Sipyagin  took  his  seat  and  kissed  his  hand 
to  her. 

*Are  you  comfortable,  Mr.  Paklin?  Drive 
on!' 

^  Je  vous  recommande  топ  frere  ;  epargnez-le!* 
Valentina  Mihalovna  was  heard  to  say. 

*  Soyez  tranquille ! '  cried  Kallomyetsev, 
glancing  smartly  up  at  her  from  under  the 
edge  of  a  travelling-cap  that  he  had  designed 
himself,  with  a  cockade  in  it.  ...  *  С  est  surtout 
V autre  quHl  faut  pzncer  ! ' 

*  Drive  on  ! '  repeated  Sipyagin.  *  Mr.  Paklin, 
you  're  not  cold  ?     Drive  on  ! ' 

The  two  carriages  rolled  away. 

For  the  first  ten  minutes  both  Sipyagin 
and  Paklin  were  silent.  The  luckless  Sila  in 
his  shabby  little  suit  and  greasy  cap  seemed 
a  still  more  pitiful  figure  against  the  dark- 
blue  background  of  the  rich  silky  material  with 
which  the  inside  of  the  coach  was  upholstered. 
In  silence  he  looked  round  at  the  delicate,  pale- 
blue  blinds  that  ran  up  rapidly  at  a  mere  finger's 
touch  on  a  button,  and  at  the  rug  of  soft  white 
sheepskin  at  their  feet,  and  the  box  of  red  wood 
fitted  in  in  front,  with  a  movable  tray  desk  for 
letters,  and  even  a  shelf  for  books.  (Boris 
196 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

Andreitch  did  not  much  care  to  work  in  his 
coach,  but  he  wished  to  make  people  believe 
he  liked  to  work  on  his  journeys  like  Thiers.) 
Paklin  felt  intimidated.  Sipyagin  glanced  at 
him  twice  over  his  glossily  shaven  cheek,  and 
with  majestic  deliberation  pulled  out  of  his 
side-pocket  a  silver  cigar-case  with  a  curly 
monogram  on  it  in  old  Slavonic  type,  and 
offered  him  .  .  .  positively  offered  him  a  cigar, 
balancing  it  between  the  second  and  third 
fingers  of  a  hand  in  an  English  glove  of  yellow 
dogskin. 

*  I  don't  smoke,'  muttered  Paklin. 

*  Ah ! '  responded  Sipyagin,  and  he  himself 
lighted  the  cigar,  which  appeared  to  be  a  most 
choice  regalia. 

*  I  ought  to  tell  you  .  .  .  dear  Mr.  Paklin,' 
he  began,  puffing  affably  at  his  cigar,  and  emit- 
ting delicate  rings  of  fragrant  smoke  ...  *  that 
I  ...  am  in  reality  .  .  .  very  grateful  ...  to 
you.  ...  I  may  have  seemed  .  .  .  somewhat 
short  ...  to  you  yesterday  ,  .  .  though  that 
is  not  ...  a  characteristic  ...  of  mine  at  all  * 
(Sipyagin  intentionally  cut  his  sentence  up 
meaningly),  *  I  venture  to  assure  you  of  that. 
But,  Mr.  Paklin,  put  yourself  in  my  .  .  .  place* 
(Sipyagin  rolled  the  cigar  from  one  corner  of 
his  mouth  to  the  other).  *  The  position  I 
occupy   makes   me  ...  so   to  say    .  .  .    con- 

197 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

spicuous ;  and  all  of  a  sudden  .  .  ,  my  wife's 
brother  .  .  .  compromises  himself  .  .  .  and  me 
in  this  incredible  manner !  Eh !  Mr.  Paklin  ? 
You  perhaps  think  that 's  of  no  great  matter  ? ' 

*  I  don't  think  that,  your  Excellency/ 

*  You  don't  know  for  what  precisely  ...  and 
where  exactly,  he  was  arrested  ?  ' 

*  I  heard  it  was  in  T district' 

*  From  whom  did  you  hear  that  ?  * 
'  From  .  .  .  from  a  man.' 

'  Well,  it  would  hardly  be  from  a  bird.  But 
what  man  ? ' 

*  Froir  .  .  from  an  assistant  of  the  director 
of  the  business  of  the  governor's  office.* 

*  What 's  his  name  ?  ' 

*  The  director  ? ' 

*  No,  the  assistant' 

'His  .  .  ,  his  name  is  Ulyashevitch.  He's 
a  very  good  public  servant,  your  Excellency. 
When  I  heard  of  that  occurrence,  I  hurried  at 
once  to  you.' 

*  To  be  sure,  to  be  sure  !  And  I  repeat  that  I 
am  very  grateful  to  you.  But  what  madness  ! 
Isn't  it  madness?  eh  ?  Mr.  Paklin  ?  eh  ?  ' 

*  Perfect  madness ! '  cried  Paklin,  and  the 
perspiration  zigzagged  in  a  hot  rivulet  down 
his  back.  *  It  comes,'  he  went  on,  *  of  not  in 
the  least  understanding  the  Russian  peasant 
Mr.  Markelov,  so  far  as  I  know  him,  has  a  very 

198 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

kind  and  generous  heart ;  but  he  has  never 
understood  the  Russian  peasant'  (Paklin  glanced 
at  Sipyagin,  who,  turning  slightly  towards  him, 
was  scanning  him  with  a  chilly  but  not  hostile 
expression).  'The  Russian  peasant  cannot 
ever  be  induced  to  revolt  except  by  taking  ad- 
vantage of  his  devotion  to  a  higher  authority, 
some  sort  of  Tsar.  Some  sort  of  legend  must 
be  invented — you  remember  the  false  Demetrius 
— some  sort  of  regal  insignia,  branded  in  burnt 
patches  on  the  breast.' 

*Yes,  yes,  like  Pugatchev,'  interrupted  Sip- 
yagin in  a  tone  that  seemed  to  say,  *  I  've  not 
forgotten  my  history  .  .  .  you  needn't  enlarge  ! ' 
and  adding,  *  It 's  madness  !  madness  ! '  he 
turned  to  the  contemplation  of  the  swift  coil  of 
smoke  rising  from  the  end  of  his  cigar. 

*  Your  Excellency ! '  observed  Paklin,  gather- 
ing courage,  *  I  told  you  just  now  I  didn't 
smoke  .  .  .  but  that's  not  quite  accurate.  I 
do  smoke  at  times ;  and  your  cigar  smells  so 
delicious.  .  .  .' 

*  Eh  ?  what  ?  what 's  that  ?  '  said  Sipyagin,  as 
though  waking  up  ;  and  without  letting  Paklin 
repeat  what  he  had  said,  he  proved  in  the  most 
unmistakable  manner  that  he  had  heard  him, 
and  had  uttered  his  reiterated  questions  solely 
for  the  sake  of  his  dignity,  by  offering  him  his 
open  cigar-case. 

199 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

Paklin  discreetly  and  gratefully  lighted  a 
cigar. 

*  Now,  I  fancy,  is  a  good  moment,'  he  thought ; 
ut  Sipyagin  anticipated  him. 

*  You  spoke  to  me,  too,  do  you  remember?'  he 
said  carelessly,  interrupting  himself  to  look  at 
his  cigar,  and  to  jog  his  hat  forwards  on  to  his 
forehead,  'you  spoke  ...  eh?  you  spoke  of 
.  .  .  that  friend  of  yours  who  has  married  my 
.  .  .  relation.  Do  you  see  them?  They  are 
settled  not  far  from  here  ?  ' 

*  Aha ! '  thought  Paklin,  *  Sila,  look  out ! ' 

*  I  have  seen  them  only  once,  your  Excel- 
lency !  they  are  living,  as  a  fact  ...  at  no 
great  distance  from  here.' 

'You  understand,  of  course/  Sipyagin  went 
on  in  the  same  manner, '  that  I  have  no  further 
serious  interest,  as  I  explained  to  you,  either 
in  that  frivolous  girl  or  in  your  friend.  Good 
heavens !  I  've  no  prejudices,  but  you  will 
agree  with  me,  this  is  beyond  everything.  It 's 
folly,  you  know.  Though  I  imagine  they  have 
been  more  drawn  together  by  political  sym- 
pathies'  ('Politics!'  he  repeated  with  a  shrug 
of  his  shoulders)  '  than  by  any  other  feeling.* 
'  Indeed  I  imagine  so,  your  Excellency  ! ' 
'  Yes,  Mr.  Nezhdanov  was  a  red-hot  repub- 
lican. I  must  do  him  the  justice  to  admit  that 
he  made  no  secret  of  his  opinions.' 

200 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

'Nezhdanov,'  Paklin  hazarded,  'has  been  led 
away,  perhaps,  but  his  heart ' 

*  Is  good,'  put  in  Sipyagin  :  4o  be  sure  .  .  . 
to  be  sure,  Hke  Markelov's.  They  all  have 
good  hearts.  Probably  he  too  has  taken  part 
— and  will  be  too  .  .  .  We  shall  have  to  pro- 
tect him  too.' 

Paklin  clasped  his  hands  before  his  breast. 

'Ah,  yes,  yes,  your  Excellency!  Extend 
your  protection  to  him !  Indeed  ...  he  de- 
serves .  .  .  deserves  your  sympathy.' 

*  H'm,'  said  Sipyagin  ;  *  you  think  so  ?  * 

*  If  not  for  his  own  sake,  at  least  ...  for 
your  niece's  ;  for  his  wife's  !  (*  О  Lord  !  О 
Lord ! '  Paklin  was  thinking,  '  what  lies  I  'm 
telling!') 

Sipyagin  puckered  up  his  eyes. 

*  You  are,  I  see,  a  very  devoted  friend.  That 's 
excellent ;  that 's  very  praiseworthy,  young 
man.  And  so,  you  say,  they're  living  near 
here?' 

'  Yes,  your  Excellency  ;  at  a  large  establish- 
ment .  .  .'  Paklin  bit  his  tongue. 

'Tut  .  .  .  tut-tut  ...  at  Solomin's!  so 
they  're  there  !  I  was  aware  of  that — indeed, 
I  'd  been  told  so,  I  'd  been  informed.  .  .  .  Yes.' 
(Mr.  Sipyagin  was  not  in  the  least  aware  of  it, 
and  no  one  had  told  him  so ;  but  recollecting 
Solomin's  visit,  and  their  midnight  interview,  he 
20 1 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

dropped  this  bait.   .   .   .     And  Paklin  rose  to 
it  at  once.) 

'  Since  you  know  that,'  he  began,  and  a  second 
time  he  bit  his  tongue.  .  .  .  But  it  was  too  late. 
.  .  .  From  the  mere  glance  flung  at  him  by 
Sipyagin  he  realised  that  he  had  been  playing 
with  him  all  the  while,  as  a  cat  plays  with  a 
mouse. 

*  I  must  tell  your  Excellency,  though,'  the 
luckless  wretch  faltered,  4hat  I  really  know 
nothing.  .  .  .' 

*  And  I  ask  you  no  questions,  upon  my  word ! 
What  do  you  mean  ?  What  do  you  take  me, 
and  yourself,  for?'  said  Sipyagin  haughtily, 
and  he  promptly  withdrew  into  his  ministerial 
heights. 

And  again  Paklin  felt  himself  a  wretched 
little,  entrapped  creature.  .  .  .  Till  that  instant 
he  kept  his  cigar  in  the  corner  of  his  mouth,  re- 
mote from  Sipyagin,  and  had  stealthily  puffed 
the  smoke  on  one  side ;  now  he  took  it  out  of 
his  mouth  altogether,  and  ceased  smoking. 

*  Good  Lord  ! '  he  groaned  inwardly — and 
the  sweat  trickled  over  his  shoulders  more 
plentifully  than  before.  'What  have  I  done! 
I  have  betrayed  everything  and  every  one !  .  .  . 
I  've  been  fooled,  bought  with  a  good  cigar ! 
.  .  .  I  'm  an  informer  .  .  .  and  what  can  be 
done  to  undo  the  harm  now  ?     Lord  ! ' 

202 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

There  was  nothing  to  be  done.  Sipyagin 
began  to  doze  with  the  same  dignified,  solemn 
ministerial  air,  wrapped  up  in  his  camel's-hair 
cloak.  .  .  .  And  before  another  quarter  of  an 
hour  had  passed,  both  the  carriages  stopped 
in  front  of  the  governor's  house. 


203 


XXXV 

The  governor  of  the  town  of  S was  one 

of  those  good-natured,  careless,  worldly  generals, 
those  generals  endowed  with  an  exquisitely 
well-washed  white  body,  and  an  almost  equally 
pure  soul,  those  well-born,  well-bred  generals, 
kneaded,  so  to  speak,  of  the  most  finely  sifted 
flour,  who,  though  they  never  lay  themselves 
out  to  be  '  shepherds  of  the  people,'  do  never- 
theless give  proof  of  very  tolerable  admini- 
strative abilities;  and  doing  very  little  work, 
for  ever  sighing  for  Petersburg  and  dangling 
after  pretty  provincial  ladies,  are  of  the  most 
unmistakable  service  to  their  province  and 
leave  pleasant  memories  behind  them.  He  had 
only  just  got  out  of  bed,  and,  sitting  in  a  silk 
dressing-gown  and  a  loose  night-shirt  before 
his  looking-glass,  he  was  dabbing  his  face  and 
neck  with  eau-de-cologne,  after  taking  off  a 
perfect  collection  of  little  amulets  and  relics  as 
a  preliminary, — when  he  was  informed  of  the 
arrival  of  Sipyagin  and  Kallomyetsev  on  im- 
204 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

portant  and  urgent  business.  With  Sipyagin 
he  was  very  intimate,  called  him  by  his  Chris- 
tian name,  had  known  him  from  his  youth  up, 
was  continually  meeting  him  in  Petersburg 
drawing-rooms,  and  of  late  he  had  begun,  every 
time  his  name  occurred  to  him,  to  ejaculate 
mentally  a  respectful  '  Ah ! '  as  on  hearing  the 
name  of  a  future  statesman.  Kallomyetsev  he 
knew  rather  less  and  respected  much  less,  see- 
ing that  for  some  time  past  '  unpleasant '  com- 
plaints had  begun  to  be  made  against  him  ;  he 
regarded  him,  however,  as  a  man — qui  /era 
chemin — one  way  or  another. 

He  gave  orders  that  the  visitors  should  be 
asked  into  his  study,  and  promptly  came  into  it 
in  the  same  silk  dressing-gown,  and  without 
even  an  apology  for  receiving  them  in  such  an 
unofficial  attire;  and  he  shook  hands  cordially 
with  them.  Only  Sipyagin  and  Kallomyetsev 
had,  however,  been  conducted  to  the  governor's 
study  ;  Paklin  had  been  left  in  the  drawing- 
room.  As  he  crawled  out  of  the  coach,  he  had 
tried  to  sneak  off,  muttering  that  he  had  busi- 
ness at  home  ;  but  Sipyagin  with  courteous 
firmness  had  detained  him  (Kallomyetsev  had 
skipped  up  and  whispered  in  Sipyagin's  ear : 
*Ne  le  laches  pas  !  Tonnerre  de  tonnerre  I ')  and 
taken  him  in  along  with  him.  To  the  study, 
however,  he  had  not  led  him,  but  had  requested 
205 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

him,  still  with  the  same  courteous  firmness,  to 
wait  in  the  drawing-room  till  he  should  be  sent 
for.  Paklin  even  here  hoped  to  slink  off  .  .  . 
but,  at  a  hint  from  Kallomyetsev,  a  stalwart 
gendarme  showed  himself  at  the  door.  .  .  . 
Paklin  remained. 

*  You  guess,  no  doubt,  what  has  brought  me 
to  you,  Voldemar}'  began  Sipyagin. 

'  No,  dear  boy,  I  can't  guess,'  answered  the 
amiable  epicurean,  while  a  smile  of  welcome 
curved  his  rosy  cheeks  and  showed  a  glimpse 
of  his  shining  teeth,  half  hidden  by  silky  mous- 
taches. .  .  . 

'  What  ?  . . .  Don't  you  know  about  Markelov  ?* 

'  What  do  you  mean  ? — Markelov  ? '  the  gov- 
ernor repeated  with  the  same  expression.  He 
had,  to  begin  with,  no  clear  recollection  that 
the  man  arrested  the  day  before  was  called 
Markelov ;  and  he  had  besides  utterly  for- 
gotten that  Sipyagin's  wife  had  a  brother  of 
that  surname.  'But  why  are  you  standing, 
Boris  ?  sit  down  ;  won't  you  have  some  tea  ?  * 

But  Sipyagin  was  in  no  mood  for  tea. 

When  he  explained  at  last  what  was  the 
matter  and  for  what  reason  he  and  Kallomyetsev 
had  made  their  appearance,  the  governor  uttered 
a  pained  exclamation,  and  slapped  himself  on 
the  forehead,  while  his  face  assumed  an  expres- 
sion of  grief. 

206 


VIRGIN    SOIL 

*  Yes  .  .  .  yes  .  .  .  yes ! '  he  repeated ;  *  what 
a  misfortune  !  And  he 's  here  now — to-day — 
for  a  while ;  you  know  we  never  keep  that  sort 
with  us  longer  than  one  night ;  but  the  com- 
mander of  police  is  out  of  the  town,  so  your 
brother-in-law 's  been  detained.  .  .  .  But  to- 
morrow they  will  forward  him.  Dear  me  !  how 
very  unfortunate !  How  distressed  _  your  wife 
must  be !     What  is  it  you  wish  ? ' 

'  I  should  have  liked  to  have  an  interview 
with  him,  here — if  it 's  not  contrary  to  law.' 

*  My  dear  fellow  !  laws  are  not  made  for  men 
like  you.  I  do  feel  for  you  !  .  .  .  С  est  affreux, 
tu  sais  ! ' 

He  gave  a  peculiar  ring.  An  adjutant  ap- 
peared. 

*  My  dear  baron,  if  you  please — some  arrange- 
ments here.'  He  told  him  what  he  wanted. 
The  baron  vanished.  *  Only  fancy,  топ  cher 
ami^  you  know  they  all  but  murdered  him. 
They  tied  his  hands  behind  him,  clapped  him 
in  a  cart,  and  off  they  went  with  him  !  And 
he — fancy !  isn't  in  the  least  angry  with  them — 
not  a  bit  indignant — dear,  dear!  He's  so 
composed  altogether.  ...  I  was  astonished  ! 
but  there,  you  will  see  for  yourself  Cest  un 
fanatique  tranquille! 

'  Ce  sont  les  pires^  Kallomyetsev  pronounced 
sententiously. 

207 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

The  governor  gave  him  a  dubious  look. 

*  By  the  way,  I  must  have  a  word  with  you, 
Semyon  Petrovitch/ 

*  Why,  what  is  it  ? ' 
*0h,  something's  amiss.* 
'And  what?' 

*  Well,  I  must  tell  you  ;  your  debtor,  that 
peasant  who  came  to  me  with  a  complaint ' 

'  Well  ? ' 

*  He 's  hanged  himself,  you  know/ 
*When?' 

*  It's  of  no  consequence  when  :  but  it's  a  bad 
business.' 

Kallomyetsev  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and 
with  a  dandified  swing  of  his  elegant  person 
moved  away  to  the  window.  At  that  instant 
the  adjutant  brought  in  Markelov. 

The  governor  had  spoken  truly  about  him ; 
he  was  unnaturally  calm.  Even  his  habitual 
moroseness  had  vanished  from  his  face  and 
was  replaced  by  an  expression  of  a  sort  of 
indifferent  weariness.  It  did  not  change  when 
he  saw  his  brother-in-law,  and  only  in  the 
glance  he  flung  at  the  German  adjutant  escort- 
ing him  there  was  a  momentary  flash  of  his  old 
hatred  for  that  class  of  persons.  His  coat  had 
been  torn  in  two  places  and  hurriedly  sown  up 
with  coarse  thread ;  on  his  forehead,  over  one 
eyebrow,  and  on  the  bridge  of  his  nose  could 
208 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

be  seen  small  scars  covered  with  clotted  blood. 
He  had  not  washed,  but  had  combed  his  hair. 
Stuffing  both  hands  up  to  the  wrists  into  his 
sleeves,  he  stood  not  far  from  the  door.  His 
breathing  was  quite  even. 

*  Sergei  Mihalovitch  ! '  Sipyagin  began  in  an 
agitated  voice,  going  two  steps  towards  him, 
and  stretching  out  his  right  hand  so  that  it 
might  touch  him  or  stop  him  if  he  were  to 
make  a  forward  movement.  *  Sergei  Mihalo- 
vitch !  I  am  not  here  to  express  to  you  our 
amazement,  our  deep  distress — that  you  cannot 
doubt !  You  have  yourself  willed  your  own 
ruin !  And  you  have  ruined  yourself!  But  I 
desired  to  see  you  so  as  to  say  to  you  .  .  .  er 
...  er  ...  to  render  ...  to  give  you  the 
chance  of  hearing  the  voice  of  common  sense, 
honour,  and  friendship  !  You  may  still  mitigate 
your  lot ;  and,  believe  me,  I  will,  for  my  part, 
do  all  that  lies  in  my  power,  and  the  honoured 
head  of  this  province  will  support  me  in  this.' 
Here  Sipyagin  raised  his  voice :  *  Unfeigned 
penitence  for  your  errors,  and  a  full  confession 
without  reserve,  which  shall  be  duly  represented 
in  the  proper  quarters  .  .  .' 

'Your  Excellency,'  Markelov  began  all  at 
once,  addressing  the  governor,  and  the  very 
sound  of  his  voice  was  quiet,  though  a  little 
hoarse,  *  I    imagined  it   was  your  pleasure  to 

VOL.  II.  209  о 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

see  me  to  make  a  further  examination  of  me  or 
something.  .  .  .  But  if  you  have  summoned  me 
only  at  the  desire  of  Mr.  Sipyagin,  give  orders, 
please,  for  me  to  be  taken  back ;  we  can't 
understand  one  another.  All  he  says  ...  is 
so  much  Greek  to  me.' 

'  Greek  .  .  .  indeed  !  *  Kallomyetsev  inter- 
vened in  a  haughty  treble  ;  *  but  it 's  not  Greek 
to  you  to  set  peasants  rioting !  That 's  not 
Greek,  is  it  ?     Eh  ? ' 

*  What  have  you  here,  your  Excellency  ?  some 
sub  in  the  secret  police,  eh  ?  So  zealous  in  his 
work?'  queried  Markelov,  and  a  faint  smile  of 
pleasure  quivered  on  his  pale  lips. 

Kallomyetsev,  with  a  hiss  of  anger,  was 
stamping.  .     .  But  the  governor  stopped  him. 

'It's  your  own  fault,  Semyon  Petrovitch. 
Why  do  you  interfere  in  what's  not  your 
business  ? ' 

'  Not  my  business !  .  .  .  I  should  say  it 's  the 
public  business  ...  of  all  us  noblemen  !  .  .  .' 

Markelov  scanned  Kallomyetsev  with  a  cold, 
prolonged  gaze,  as  though  it  were  for  the  last 
time,  and  turned  a  little  towards  Sipyagin. 
*And  since  you,  brother-in-law,  want  me  to 
explain  my  views  to  you,  here  you  are.  I 
recognise  that  the  peasants  had  the  right  to 
arrest  me  and  give  me  up  if  they  didn't  like 
what  I  said  to  them.     They  were  free  to  do 

2IO 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

that.  /  had  come  to  them  ;  not  they  to  me. 
And  the  government,  if  it  sends  me  to  Siberia 
...  I  'm  not  going  to  grumble — though  I  don't 
regard  myself  as  guilty.  It's  doing  its  own 
work,  for  it's  guarding  itself.  Is  that  enough 
for  you  ? ' 

Sipyagin  flung  up  his  hands. 

*  Enough  !  What  a  thing  to  say  !  That  *s 
not  the  question,  and  it 's  not  for  us  to  criticise 
the  action  of  the  government ;  what  I  want  to 
know  is,  do  you  feel  ...  do  you,  dear  Sergei, 
feel' — (Sipyagin  resolved  to  try  an  appeal  to 
the  feelings) — 4he  senselessness,  the  mad- 
ness of  your  attempt?  are  you  prepared  to 
prove  your  repentance  in  act  ?  and  can  I 
answer,  to  a  certain  extent  answer,  for  you, 
Sergei  ? ' 

Markelov  knitted  his  bushy  brows. 

*  I  have  said  my  say  .  ,  .  and  I  don't  want 
to  repeat  it.' 

*  But  repentance !  What  of  your  repent- 
ance?' 

Suddenly  Markelov  grew  restive. 

*  Ah,  let  me  alone  with  your  "repentance"! 
Do  you  want  to  crawl  inside  my  soul  ?  Leave 
that  at  least  to  me.' 

Sipyagin  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

*  There,  you  are  always  like  that ;  you  will 
never  listen  to  the  voice  of  reason  !     You  have 

211 


VIRGIN    SOIL 

still  a  possibility  of  extricating  yourself  without 
scandal  or  dishonour.' 

'  Without  scandal  or  dishonour  .  .  .'  Markelov 
repeated  grimly.  *  We  know  those  phrases ! 
They  are  always  used  to  suggest  a  man's  doing 
something  scoundrelly.  That's  what  they 
mean ! ' 

*We  sympathise  with  you/  Sipyagin  con- 
tinued to  exhort  Markelov,  '  and  you  hate  us.' 

'  A  nice  sort  of  sympathy  !  You  pack  us  off 
to  Siberia  to  hard  labour  ;  that 's  how  you  show 
your  sympathy  for  us  !  Ah,  let  me  alone  .  .  . 
let  me  alone,  for  mercy's  sake ! ' 

And  Markelov's  head  sank  on  his  breast. 
There  was  great  confusion  in  his  soul,  quiet  as 
he  was  outwardly.  More  than  all  he  was 
fretted  and  tortured  by  the  thought  that  he 
had  been  betrayed  by  none  other  than  Eremey 
of  Goloplyok  !  Eremey  in  whom  he  had  believed 
so  blindly  !  That  Mendely,  the  Sulker,  had 
not  followed  him  had  not  really  surprised  him. 
.  .  .  Mendely  had  been  drunk  and  was  fright- 
ened. But  Eremey !  To  Markelov,  Eremey 
was  a  sort  of  personification  of  the  Russian 
peasantry.  .  .  .  And  he  had  deceived  him. 
Then,  was  all  Markelov  had  been  toiling  for, 
was  it  all  wrong,  a  mistake  ?  And  was  Kislyakov 
a  liar,  and  were  Vassily  Nikolaevitch's  orders 
folly,  and  were  all  the  articles  and  books,  works 

212 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

of  socialists  and  thinkers,  every  letter  of  which 
had  seemed  to  him  something  beyond  doubt, 
beyond  attack — was  all  that  too  rubbish  ? 
Could  it  be?  And  that  splendid  simile  of 
the  swollen  abscess,  ready  for  the  stroke  of  the 
lancet,  was  that  too  a  mere  phrase  ?  *  No  !  no  ! ' 
he  murmured  to  himself,  and  over  his  bronzed 
cheeks  flitted  a  faint  tinge  of  brickdust  colour  ; 
'  no  ;  it 's  all  true  ;  all  ...  it  is  /  am  to  blame, 
I  didn't  understand,  I  didn't  say  the  right  thing, 
I  didn't  go  the  right  way  to  work !  I  ought 
simply  to  have  given  orders,  and  if  any  one  had 
tried  to  hinder  or  resist,  put  a  bullet  through  his 
head !  what 's  the  use  of  explanations  here  ? 
Any  one  not  with  us  has  no  right  to  live  ,  .  . 
spies  are  killed  like  dogs,  worse  than  dogs !  * 

And  all  the  details  of  his  capture  passed 
before  Markelov's  mind.  .  .  .  First  the  silence, 
the  leers,  the  shouts  at  the  back  of  the  crowd. 
Then  one  fellow  comes  up  sideways  as  if  to 
salute  him.  Then  that  sudden  rush !  And 
how  they  had  flung  him  down!  .  ,  .  'Lads  .  .  . 
lads  !  .  .  .  what  are  you  about  ?  *  And  they, 
*  Give  us  a  belt  here !  Tie  him ! '  .  .  .  The 
shaking  of  his  bones  .  .  .  and  helpless  wrath 
.  .  .  and  the  stinking  dust  in  his  mouth,  in  his 
nostrils.  ...  *  Toss  him  .  .  .  toss  him  into  the 
cart'     Some  one  guffawing  thickly  .  .  .  ugh ! 

*  I  didn't  go  the  right  way — the  right  way  to 
213 


VIRGIN    SOIL 

work!'  That  was  just  what  fretted  and  tor- 
mented him  ;  that  he  himself  had  fallen  under 
the  wheel  was  his  personal  misfortune :  it  had 
no  bearing  on  the  cause  in  general ;  that  he 
could  bear  .  .  .  but  Eremey !  Eremey ! 

While  Markelov  stood,  his  head  sunk  on  his 
breast,  Sipyagin  drew  the  governor  aside  and 
began  talking  to  him  in  undertones,  with  slight 
gesticulations  and  a  shake  of  two  fingers  on  his 
forehead,  as  though  he  would  suggest  that  the 
poor  fellow  was  not  quite  right  in  that  region, 
and  would  try  altogether  to  arouse,  if  not  sym- 
pathy, at  least  indulgence  for  the  crazy  creature. 
And  the  governor  shrugged  his  shoulders,  turned 
up  and  then  half-closed  his  eyes,  regretted  his 
own  helplessness  in  the  matter,  but  gave  some 
vague  promises.  .  .  .  '  Tous  les  egards  .  .  . 
certaineme7it,  tous  les  egards'  .  .  .  the  delicately 
lisped  words  were  heard  softly  uttered  through 

his  scented  moustaches *  But  you  know,  dear 

boy,  the  law  ! '  'Of  course — the  law  ! '  Sipyagin 
assented  with  a  sort  of  stoical  submissiveness. 

While  they  were  conversing  in  this  way  in 
the  corner,  Kallomyetsev  simply  could  not 
stand  still ;  he  moved  up  and  down,  cleared 
his  throat,  hummed  and  hawed,  exhibiting 
every  sign  of  impatience.  At  last  he  went  up 
to  Sipyagin,  and  hurriedly  remarked :  *  Vous 
oubliez  £  autre  I ' 

214 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

'  Ah,  yes ! '  said  Sipyagin  aloud.  *  Merci  de 
me  Г  avoir  rappele.  I  must  lay  the  following 
fact  before  your  Excellency/  he  said,  turning 
to  the  governor.  .  .  .  (He  used  this  formal 
address  to  his  dear  Voldemar  intentionally,  not 
to  compromise  the  prestige  of  authority  before 
a  revolutionist.)  '  I  have  good  grounds  for 
supposing  that  my  beau-frere's  mad  attempt  has 
certain  ramifications  ;  and  that  one  of  those 
branches,  that  is,  one  of  the  suspected  persons, 
is  at  no  great  distance  from  this  town.  Send,' 
he  added,  in  an  undertone,  'for  the  man  .  .  . 
there,  in  your  drawing-room.  ...  I  brought 
him  with  me.' 

The  governor  glanced  at  Sipyagin,  thought 
with  reverence,  '  What  a  fellow  ! '  and  gave  the 
necessary  order.  A  minute  later,  the  *  servant 
of  God,'  Sila  Paklin,  stood  before  him. 

Sila  Paklin  was  beginning  to  make  a  low  bow 
to  the  governor;  but  catching  sight  of  Markelov 
he  did  not  complete  his  salutation — he  remained 
as  he  was,  bent  in  half,  twisting  his  cap  about  in 
his  hands.  Markelov  cast  a  heedless  glance  in 
his  direction,  but  can  hardly  have  recognised 
him  ;  for  he  sank  again  into  thought. 

*  Is  this — the  branch  ?  '  queried  the  governor, 
pointing  at  Paklin  with  a  large  white  finger 
adorned  with  a  turquoise. 

'  Oh,  no ! '  responded  Sipyagin  with  a  half- 
215 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

smile.  *  However/  he  added,  after  a  moment's 
thought,  ^  here,  your  Excellency/  he  began 
again  aloud,  'before  you  is  one  Mr.  Paklin. 
He  is,  to  the  best  of  my  belief,  a  resident  in 
Petersburg,  and  an  intimate  friend  of  a  certain 
person  who  filled  the  position  of  tutor  in  my 
family,  and  left  my  house,  taking  with  him — I 
blush  to  add — a  young  girl,  a  relative  of  my 
own.' 

*  Ak  /  out,  out,'  muttered  the  governor,  and 
he  flung  up  his  head  ;  *  I  had  heard  something 
.  .  .  the  Countess  was  telling  me  .  .  / 

Sipyagin  raised  his  voice. 

*  That  person  is  a  certain  Mr.  Nezhdanov, 
strongly  suspected  by  me  of  perverted  ideas 
and  theories  .  .  .' 

*  Un  rouge  a  tons  crinsl  put  in  Kallomyetsev. 

*  Of  perverted  ideas  and  theories/  repeated 
Sipyagin  still  more  distinctly,  *  and  is  certainly 
not  without  a  share  in  all  this  propaganda  ;  he 
is  ...  in  hiding,  as  I  have  been  informed  by 
Mr.  Paklin,  in  the  factory  of  the  merchant 
Faleyev  .  .  .' 

At  the  words  '  I  have  been  informed,'  Marke- 
lov  glanced  a  second  time  at  Paklin,  but  only 
smiled,  slowly  and  indifferently. 

*  Excuse  me,  excuse  me,  your  Excellency/ 
cried  Paklin,  *  and  you,  Mr.  Sipyagin ;  I  never 
.  .  .  never.  .  .  .' 

216 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

'You  say  the  merchant  Faleyev?'  said  the 
governor,  addressing  Sipyagin,  and  merely  twirl- 
ing his  fingers  in  Paklin's  direction,  as  much  as 
to  say,  *  Silence  there,  my  good  man.'  *  What 's 
coming  to  them,  our  respectable  bearded  shop- 
keepers? Yesterday  they  caught  another  one 
about  the  same  business.  You  may  have  heard 
his  name — Golushkin,  a  rich  man.  But  there, 
he  '11  never  make  a  revolution.  He 's  grovelling 
on  his  knees  now.' 

*  The  merchant  Faleyev  does  not  come  into 
the  affair,'  Sipyagin  struck  off ; '  I  know  nothing 
of  his  views  ;  I  am  speaking  only  of  his  factory, 
in  which,  according  to  Mr.  Paklin's  story,  Mr. 
Nezhdanov  may  be  found  at  this  moment' 

*  I  didn't  say  so  ! '  Paklin  wailed  again.  *  It 
was  you  said  so ! ' 

*  Excuse  me,  Mr.  Paklin,'  Sipyagin  went  on, 
uttering  every  word  with  the  same  relentless 
distinctness.  *  I  respect  the  sentiment  of  friend- 
ship which  inspires  your  denial.'  ('  Why — he 's 
a  regular  Guizot!'  the  governor  was  thinking 
to  himself)  *  But  I  will  venture  to  put  myself 
before  you  as  an  example.  Do  you  suppose 
the  sentiment  of  kinship  is  less  strong  in  me 
than  your  feeling  of  friendship  ?  But  there  is 
another  feeling,  sir,  which  is  stronger  still,  and 
which  ought  to  be  our  guide  in  all  our  deeds 
and  actions — the  feeling  of  duty  1 

217 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

^ Le  sentiment  du  devoir'^  Kallomyetsev  ex- 
plained. 

Markelov  scanned  both  the  speakers. 

*  Mr.  Governor/  he  observed,  *  I  repeat  my 
request :  order  me,  if  you  please,  to  be  removed 
from  these  chatterers/ 

But  here  the  governor  lost  patience  a  little. 

'  Mr.  Markelov ! '  he  exclaimed,  '  I  should 
advise  you,  in  your  position,  to  show  more 
restraint  in  your  language,  and  more  respect 
for  your  superiors  .  .  .  especially  when  they 
are  expressing  patriotic  sentiments  such  as  you 
have  just  heard  from  the  lips  of  your  beau-frere. 
I  shall  be  very  happy,  my  dear  Boris/  added 
the  governor,  turning  to  Sipyagin,  4o  bring 
your  noble  action  before  the  notice  of  the 
minister.  But  where  precisely  is  this  Mr. 
Nezhdanov  to  be  found — in  this  factory? ' 

Sipyagin  knit  his  brows. 

*  He  is  with  a  certain  Mr.  Solomin,  the  over- 
seer of  the  machinery  there — so  this  Mr.  Paklin 
has  informed  me.' 

It  seemed  to  afford  Sipyagin  a  peculiar  satis- 
faction to  torment  poor  Sila;  he  was  making 
him  pay  now  for  the  cigar  he  had  given  him  in 
the  carriage,  and  the  familiarity  of  his  behaviour, 
and  even  some  little  flattery  wasted  on  him. 

*And  this  Solomin/  put  in  Kallomyetsev,  4s 
an  unmistakable  radical  and  republican,  and  it 
218 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

«vrould  be  quite  as  well  for  your  Excellency  to 
turn  your  attention  to  him  too.' 

*  Do  you  know  these  people  .  .  .  Solomin 
.  ,  .  and  what's  his  name — Nezhdanov?* 
the  governor  questioned  Markelov  in  a  rather 
authoritative  nasal. 

Markelov's  nostrils  dilated  vindictively. 
*And  do  you,  your  Excellency,  know  Con- 
fucius and  Livy  ? ' 

The  governor  turned  away. 

*  //  ny  a  pas  moyen  de  causer  avec  cet  homme^ 
he  observed,  shrugging  his  shoulders.  '  Baron, 
here,  please ! ' 

The  adjutant  darted  up  to  him  ;  and  Paklin, 
seizing  the  opportunity,  limped  hobbling  up  to 
Sipyagin. 

*  What  are  you  doing  ? '  he  whispered  ;  '  do 
you  want  to  ruin  your  own  niece?  Why,  she's 
with  him,  with  Nezhdanov !  .  .  .' 

*  I  am  ruining  no  one,  sir,'  Sipyagin  responded 
aloud  ;  '  I  am  obeying  the  dictates  of  my  con- 
science, and ' 

*  And  your  wife,  my  sister,  who  keeps  you 
under  her  thumb?'  Markelov  put  in  quite  as 
loudly. 

Sipyagin,  at  the  phrase,  did  not  turn  a  hair. 
...  It  was  too  much  beneath  him  ! 

'Listen,'  Paklin  continued,  whispering — his 
whole  body  was  shaking  with  excitement  and 

219 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

possibly  with  fear — and  his  eyes  glittered  with 
hate  and  the  tears  made  a  lump  in  his  throat ; 
tears  of  pity  for  the  others^  and  anger  with  him- 
self;  'listen,  I  told  you  she  was  married — that's 
not  true — I  told  you  a  lie  ! — but  this  marriage 
must  take  place  now — and  if  you  prevent  this, 
if  the  police  make  a  raid  on  them,  there  will  be 
a  stain  on  your  conscience  which  nothing  can 
wipe  off,  and  you ' 

*  The  fact  you  have  communicated,'  Sipyagin 
interrupted  still  louder,  '  if  only  it  is  true,  which 
I  have  good  reason  to  doubt,  can  only  hasten 
the  measure  I  should  think  it  necessary  to  take; 
and  as  to  the  purity  of  my  conscience,  sir,  I  will 
ask  you  not  to  concern  yourself  about  it/ 

*  It 's  polished,  brother/  Markelov  put  in 
again ;  *  there 's  a  coat  of  Petersburg  varnish 
laid  on  it ;  nothing  will  touch  it !  Ah,  Mr. 
Paklin,  you  may  whisper  as  you  will,  you  '11 
never  whisper  your  way  out  of  this  business, 
no  fear ! ' 

The  governor  thought  it  needful  to  cut  short 
these  recriminations. 

*I  presume,'  he  began,  'that  you  have  said  all 
you  need  to,  gentlemen  ;  and  so,  my  dear  baron, 
you  may  remove  Mr.  Markelov.     N'est-ce  paSy 
Boris,  you  have  no  further  need  .  .  .  ? ' 
Sipyagin  made  a  deprecating  gesture. 
I  have  said  all  I  could ! ' 
220 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

*  Very  well.  .  .  .  My  dear  baron  .  .  / 

The  adjutant  approached  Markelov,  clinked 
his  spurs,  made  a  horizontal  motion  with  his 
arm.  .  .  .  4f  you  please  !'  Markelov  turned 
and  went  out.  Paklin — only  in  imagination,  it 
must  be  owned,  but  with  bitter  sympathy  and 
pity — shook  his  hand. 

*  And  we  '11  send  our  fellows  to  the  factory,' 
pursued  the  governor.  '  Only  there 's  one  thing, 
Boris;  I  fancy — this  gentleman' — (he  indicated 
Paklin  with  a  turn  of  his  chin) — *  gave  you  some 
information  about  your  young  relation.  . 
Possibly  she  is  there,  in  the  factory.  ...  If 
so   .   .   .' 

*  She  could  not  be  arrested  in  any  case,' 
observed  Sipyagin  profoundly ;  *  possibly  she 
will  come  to  her  senses  and  return.  If  you  will 
permit  it,  I  will  write  her  a  little  note.' 

'  I  shall  be  obliged  if  you  will.  And,  of 
course,  you  may  rest  assured.  .  .  .  Nous  coffrerons 
le  quidam  .  .  .  mais  nous  sommes  galants  avec 
les  datnes  ,  ,  ,  et  avec  celle-la  done  ! ' 

*  But  you  are  taking  no  measures  with  regard 
to  that  Solomin ! '  Kallomyetsev  exclaimed, 
plaintively.  He  had  been  all  the  while  on  the 
alert  trying  to  catch  the  governor's  remarks  a 
little  aside  to  Sipyagin.  *  I  assure  you,  he 's 
the  ringleader !  I  've  an  instinct  in  these  things 
...  a  perfect  instinct ! ' 

221 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

^Pas  trap  de  zele^  dear  Semyon  Petrovitch/ 
observed  the  governor  with  a  smirk.  *  Re- 
member Talleyrand  !  If  there 's  anything  amiss, 
he  won't  escape  us  either.  You  'd  much  better 
devote  your  thoughts  to  your  .  .  .*  The 
governor  made  a  gesture  suggesting  a  noose 
round  the  neck.  ...  *  And  by  the  way/  he 
turned  again  toSipyagin — ^  et  ce  gaillard-ld*  (he 
again  indicated  Paklin  by  a  turn  of  his  chin), 
*  qu'en  ferons-nous  f  He  doesn't  look  formid- 
able.' 

*  Let  him  go,'  said  Sipyagin  softly,  and  he 
added  in  German  :  *  Lass  den  Lumpen  laufen  ! ' 

He  imagined,  for  some  unknown  reason,  that 
he  was  making  a  quotation  from  Goethe,  from 
Gdtz  von  Berlichingen, 

*You  can  go,  sir!'  observed  the  governor 
aloud.  *  We  have  no  further  need  of  you ! 
Good-bye,  till  we  meet  again.' 

Paklin  made  a  general  bow  and  went  out 
into  the  street,  utterly  crushed  and  humiliated. 
Good  God  !  this  contempt  annihilated  him  ! 

*  What  am  I  ? '  he  thought  in  unutterable 
despair ;  '  both  coward  and  informer  ?  Oh,  no 
.  .  .  no ;  I  *m  an  honest  man,  gentlemen,  and 
I  *m  not  quite  devoid  of  all  manliness  ! ' 

But  what  was  this  familiar  figure  standing 
on  the  steps  of  the  governor's  house,  gazing  at 
him  with  dejected  eyes,  full  of  reproach  ?    Why, 

222 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

it  was  Markelov's  old  servant.  He  had,  seem- 
ingly, come  to  the  town  after  his  master,  and 
would  not  move  away  from  his  prison.  .  .  . 
But  why  did  he  look  like  that  at  Paklin  ?  It 
was  not  he  who  had  betrayed  Markelov ! 

'And  what  induced  me  to  go  poking  my 
nose  where  I  was  no  manner  of  use?'  he 
thought  again  in  desperation.  '  Why  couldn't 
I  have  kept  quiet  and  minded  my  own  business  ? 
And  now  they  '11  talk,  and  most  likely  write : 
"  A  certain  Mr.  Paklin  has  told  of  everything, 
he  has  betrayed  them  ...  his  friends,  betrayed 
them  to  the  enemy  !  "  *  He  recalled  at  this 
point  the  glance  Markelov  had  flung  at  him, 
he  recalled  his  last  words :  '  You  '11  never 
whisper  your  way  out,  no  fear ! ' — and  then  those 
aged,  dejected,  despairing  eyes !  And  as  it  is 
written  in  the  scriptures,  *  he  wept  bitterly,'  and 
made  his  way  to  the  oasis,  to  Fomushka  and 
Fimushka,  to  Snanduliya.  ... 


223 


XXXVI 

When  Marianna,  the  same  morning,  came  out 
of  her  room,  she  saw  Nezhdanov  dressed  and 
sitting  on  the  sofa.  In  one  hand  he  held  his 
head,  the  other  lay  weak  and  motionless  on 
his  knees.     She  went  up  to  him. 

*  Good  morning,  Alexey.  .  .  .  You  Ve  not 
undressed  ?  you  Ve  not  slept  ?  How  pale  you 
are!' 

His  heavy  eyelids  rose  slowly. 

*  No,  I  didn't  undress,  I  've  not  been  asleep.* 

*  Are  you  ill,  or  is  it  the  result  of  yesterday  ? ' 
Nezhdanov  shook  his  head. 

*I   couldn't   sleep  after   Solomin  went  into 
your  room.' 
'When.?' 
'Yesterday  evening.' 

*  Alexey,  are  you  jealous?  Well,  that's 
something  new !  And  what  a  time  you  've 
chosen  to  be  jealous  !  He  only  stayed  with  me 
a  quarter  of  an  hour.  .  .  .  And  we  were  talking 
about  his  cousin,  the  priest,  and  how  to  arrange 
our  marriage.' 

224 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

*  I  know  he  only  stayed  a  quarter  of  an  hour ; 
I  saw  when  he  came  out.  And  I  'm  not  jealous, 
oh,  no  I  But  still,  I  couldn't  get  to  sleep,  after 
that/ 

'Why?' 

Nezhdanov  did  not  speak. 

'  I  kept  thinking  .  . .  thinking  . .  .  thinking ! ' 

*What  about?' 

*You  .  .  .  and  him  .  .  .  and  myself/ 

*And  what  conclusion  did  you  come  to?' 

*  Must  I  tell  you,  Marianna  ? ' 

*  Yes,  tell  me/ 

*  I  thought  that  I  'm  in  your  way  ,  .  ,  and 
his  .  .  .  and  my  own/ 

'Mine?  his?  I  can  fancy  what  you  mean 
by  that,  though  you  do  declare  you  're  not 
jealous.     But  your  own  ? ' 

'Marianna,  there  are  two  men  in  me,  and 
one  won't  let  the  other  live.  So  that  I  suppose 
in  fact  it  would  be  better  for  both  to  cease  to 
live.' 

*  Come,  hush,  Alexey,  please  !  What  makes 
you  want  to  torture  yourself  and  me?  We 
ought  to  be  considering  now  what  steps  we 
must  take.  .  .  .  They  won't  leave  us  in  peace, 
you  know/ 

Nezhdanov  took  her  hand  affectionately. 

*  Sit  beside  me,  Marianna,  and  let  us  talk  a 
little,  like  friends.     While  there  is  still  time. 

VOL.  II.  22 s  P 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

Give  me  your  hand.  I  think  it  would  be  as 
well  for  us  to  explain  ourselves,  though,  they 
do  say,  explanations  of  all  sorts  only  lead  to 
greater  confusion.  But  you  are  kind  and  wise  ; 
you  will  understand  it  all,  and  what  I  don't  say 
out,  you  will  think  for  yourself.     Sit  down.' 

Nezhdanov's  voice  was  very  soft,  and  a 
peculiar  affectionate  tenderness  was  apparent 
in  his  eyes,  which  were  fixed  intently  on 
Marianna. 

She  sat  down  readily  at  once  beside  him  and 
took  his  hand. 

*  Thank  you,  dear  one.    Now  listen.     I  won't 
keep  you  long.     I  Ve  gone  over  all  I  want  to 
say,  in  my  head,  during  the  night.     Well,  don't 
think  that  what  happened  yesterday  has  upset 
me  unduly  ;  I  was  certainly  very  ridiculous  and 
even  a  little  disgusting ;  but  you  thought  no- 
thing base  or  low   of   me,   I    know  .  .  .  you 
know  me.     I  said  that  what  happened  hasn't 
upset  me  ;   that 's  not  true,  it 's  nonsense  .  .  . 
it  has  upset  me,  not  because  I    was  brought 
home  drunk,  but  because  it  has  been  the  final 
proof  to   me   of  my   failure !     And   not   only 
because   I   can't  drink  as  Russians  drink,  but 
in    everything !    everything !      Marianna,    I  'm 
bound  to  tell  you  that  I  have  no  faith  now  in 
the  cause  which  brought  us  together ;  for  which 
we  left  that  house  together ;  to  tell  the  truth, 
226 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

I  had  grown  lukewarm  when  your  enthusiasm 
warmed  me  and  set  me  on  fire  again.  I  don't 
believe  in  it !     I  don't  believe  in  it ! ' 

He  laid  the  hand  that  was  free  over  his  eyes 
and  was  silent  for  an  instant.  Marianna  too 
uttered  not  a  word  and  looked  down.  ,  .  .  She 
felt  that  he  had  told  her  nothing  new. 

*  I  used  to  think/  Nezhdanov  went  on,  taking 
his  hand  away  from  his  eyes,  but  not  looking 
again  at  Marianna,  '  that  I  did  believe  in  the 
cause  itself,  and  only  doubted  of  myself,  my 
own  power,  my  own  fitness ;  my  abilities,  I 
thought,  do  not  correspond  with  my  convic- 
tions. .  .  .  But  it  seems  these  two  things  can't 
be  separated,  and  what's  the  object  of  deceiv- 
ing oneself?  No,  I  don't  believe  in  the  cause 
itself.     And  you  do  believe  in  it,  Marianna  ? ' 

Marianna  sat  up  and  raised  her  head. 

*  Yes,  Alexey,  I  do  believe  in  it.  I  believe 
in  it  with  all  the  strength  of  my  soul,  and  I 
will  devote  all  my  life  to  this  cause !  To  my 
last  breath ! ' 

Nezhdanov  turned  towards  her  and  scanned 
her  from  head  to  foot  in  a  touched  and  envious 
glance. 

*  Yes,  yes ;  I  expected  that  answer.  So  you 
see  that  there  is  nothing  for  us  to  do  in 
common ;  you  have  severed  our  tie  yourself 
at  one  blow.* 

227 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

Marianna  did  not  speak. 
'Now   Solomin/    began    Nezhdanov    again, 
*  though  he  does  not  believe  .  .  ,' 
«What?' 

*  No !  He  does  not  believe  .  ,  ,  but  he 
does  not  need  to ;  he  moves  calmly  forward. 
A  man  going  along  a  road  to  a  town  doesn't 
ask  himself  whether  the  town  has  a  real 
existence.  He  goes  on  and  on.  That's  like 
Solomin.  And  nothing  more 's  needed.  But 
I  .  .  .  can't  go  forward ;  I  don't  want  to  go 
back  ;  standing  still  I  'm  sick  of.  Whom  could 
I  presume  to  ask  to  be  my  companion  ?  You 
know  the  proverb,  "  One  at  each  end  of  the 
pole  and  the  burden  is  borne  easily  " ;  but  if 
one  cannot  hold  up  his  end,  what  becomes  of 
the  other?' 

*  Alexey,'  Marianna  ventured  uncertainly,  *  I 
think  you  are  exaggerating.  We  love  one 
another,  don't  we  ? ' 

Nezhdanov  gave  a  heavy  sigh. 

'  Marianna  ...  I  revere  you  .  .  .  and  you 
pity  me,  and  each  of  us  trusts  implicitly  in  the 
other's  honesty ;  that 's  the  real  truth !  But 
there 's  no  love  between  us.' 

*  Stop,  Alexey,  what  are  you  saying  ?  Why, 
this  very  day,  directly,  there  will  be  a  search 
for  us.  .  .  .  We  must  set  off  together,  you 
know,  and  not  part.  .  .  .' 

228 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

*  Yes  ;  and  go  to  the  priest  Zosim  to  get  him 
to  marry  us,  as  Solomin  proposes.  I  know 
very  well  that  in  your  eyes  this  marriage  is 
nothing  but  a  passport ;  a  means  of  avoiding 
annoyance  from  the  police  .  .  .  but,  neverthe- 
less, it  does  in  a  way  pledge  us  ...  to  life  in 
common,  side  by  side  ...  or  if  it  does  not 
pledge  us,  at  least  it  presupposes  a  desire  to 
live  together.' 

'What  do  you  mean,  Alexey?  Are  you 
going  to  stay  here  ? ' 

*Yes,'  all  but  broke  from  Nezhdanov's  lips, 
but  he  recollected  himself  and  said  : 

*N  .  .  .  n  .  .  .  no.' 

*Then  you  are  going  away  from  here,  but 
not  where  I  go  ? ' 

Nezhdanov  warmly  pressed  the  hand  which 
still  lay  in  his. 

*  To  leave  you  without  a  protector,  without  a 
champion,  would  be  a  crime,  and  I  won't  do 
that,  mean  as  I  may  be.  You  shall  have  a 
champion.  .  .  .  Do  not  doubt  it ! ' 

Marianna  bent  down  towards  Nezhdanov, 
and,  putting  her  face  close  to  his,  tried  anxiously 
to  look  into  his  eyes,  into  his  soul — into  his 
very  soul. 

'What  is  the  matter  with  you,  Alexey? 
What  is  in  your  heart?  Tell  me !  .  .  .  You 
frighten  me.  Your  words  are  so  enigmatical, 
229 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

SO  strange.  .  .  .  And  your  face !     I  have  never 
seen  you  with  such  a  face  ! ' 

Nezhdanov  gently  turned  her  away,  and 
gently  kissed  her  hand.  This  time  she  did 
not  resist,  and  did  not  laugh,  and  still  looked 
at  him  with  anxiety  and  alarm. 

*  Don't  alarm  yourself,  please !  There 's  no- 
thing strange  in  it.  The  whole  trouble  is  this  : 
Markelov,  they  say,  was  beaten  by  the  peasants; 
he  felt  their  fists,  they  bruised  his  ribs.  .  .  .  I  Ve 
not  been  beaten  by  the  peasants — they  even 
drank  with  me,  drank  my  health  .  .  .  but  they 
have  bruised  my  soul  worse  than  Markelov's 
ribs.  I  was  born  all  out  of  joint.  ...  I  tried 
to  set  myself  right,  but  only  put  myself  more 
out  of  joint  than  ever.  That's  just  what  you 
see  in  my  face.* 

*  Alexey,'  said  Marianna  slowly,  4t  would  be 
very  wrong  of  you  not  to  be  open  with  me.' 
He  clasped  her  hands. 

*  Marianna,  my  whole  being  is  before  you, 
as  it  were  in  your  hand  ;  and  whatever  I  do,  I 
tell  you  beforehand,  you  will  be  surprised  at 
nothing,  nothing  in  reality  ! ' 

Marianna  wanted  to  ask  for  an  explanation 
of  those  words,  but  she  did  not  ask  for  it  .  .  . 
besides,  at  that  instant  Solomin  came  into  the 
room. 

His  movements  were  sharper  and  more  rapid 
230 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

than  usual.  His  eyes  were  screwed  up,  his 
wide  lips  were  drawn  tight,  his  whole  face  looked 
as  it  were  sharper,  and  wore  a  dry,  hard,  almost 
surly  expression. 

'  My  friends,'  he  began,  *  I  've  come  to  tell 
you  that  delay 's  out  of  the  question.  Get 
ready.  .  .  .  It's  time  for  you  to  go.  You  must 
be  ready  within  an  hour.  You  must  go  to 
your  wedding.  There  's  no  news  whatever  from 
Paklin ;  his  horses  were  first  kept  at  Arzhano 
and  then  sent  back.  .  .  .  He  remained  there. 
Probably  they  took  him  to  the  town.  He 
wouldn't  tell  tales,  of  course,  but  there 's  no 
knowing,  he  might  let  something  out,  perhaps. 
Besides,  they  might  find  out  from  the  horses. 
My  cousin  has  been  told  to  expect  you.  Pavel 
will  go  with  you.     He  will  be  the  witness.' 

'And  you,  Solomin  .  .  .  Vassily?'  asked 
Nezhdanov.  *  Aren't  you  coming  ?  I  see 
you  're  dressed  for  a  journey,'  he  added,  glanc- 
ing at  the  high  boots  Solomin  was  wearing. 

*  Oh,  I  put  them  on  ...  it 's  muddy  out  of 
doors.' 

*  But  aren't  you  going  to  answer  for  us, 
Vassily?' 

*  I  don't  suppose  .  .  .  any  way,  that 's  my 
affair.  So  in  an  hour 's  time.  Marianna,  Tat- 
yana  wants  to  see  you.  She  has  been  prepar- 
ing something  out  there.' 

231 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

Oh,  yes !  And  I  was  meaning  to  go  to  her. , . . 
Marianna  was  moving  to  the  door.  .  .  . 
Something  strange,  something  akin  to  terror, 
misery,  came  out  on  Nezhdanov's  face.  .  .  . 

*  Marianna,  are  you  going  away,  dear  ? '  he 
said  suddenly  in  a  failing  voice. 

She  stopped. 

*  I  '11  be  back  In  half  an  hour.  It  won't  take 
me  long  to  pack.' 

*  Yes  ;  but  come  to  me.  .  .  .* 

*  Certainly,  what  for  ?' 

*  I  wanted  to  have  one  more  look  at  you.' 
He  took  a  long,  slow  look  at  her.  '  Good-bye, 
good-bye,  Marianna  ! ' 

She  was  bewildered.  *Why  .  .  .  what  on 
earth  am  I  talking  about  ?  I  'm  talking  rubbish. 
Why,  you  '11  be  back  in  half  an  hour,  won't 
you  ?     Eh  ? ' 

*  Of  course.' 

*  To  be  sure.  .  .  ,  Forgive  me.  My  head  's 
reeling  from  want  of  sleep.  I  too  will  .  .  . 
pack  up  directly.' 

Marianna  went  out  of  the  room.     Solomin 
was  about  to  follow  her. 
Nezhdanov  stopped  him. 
'Vassily!' 
'Well?' 

*  Give  me  your  hand.  I  have  to  thank  you, 
dear  friend,  for  your  hospitality.' 

232 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

Solomin  laughed. 

*  What  an  idea ! '  However,  he  gave  him  his 
hand. 

'  And  something  more/  Nezhdanov  went  on  : 
*  if  anything  happens  to  me,  may  I  rely  on  you, 
Vassily,  not  to  leave  Marianna  ?  * 

*  Your  wife  that  is  to  be  ? ' 

*  Yes,  Marianna ! ' 

*  To  begin  with,  I  'm  sure  nothing  will  happen 
to  you ;  but  you  can  set  your  mind  at  rest : 
Marianna  is  as  precious  to  me  as  she  is  to 
you.' 

'Oh!  I  know  that  ...  I  know  that !    That's 
right,  then.     Thanks.     In  an  hour,  then  ? ' 
'Yes.' 

*  I  will  be  ready.     Good-bye  !  * 

Solomin  went  out  and  overtook  Marianna  on 
the  stairs.  He  had  it  in  his  mind  to  say  some- 
thing to  her  about  Nezhdanov,  but  he  was  silent. 
And  Marianna  on  her  side  was  aware  that  Solo- 
min had  it  in  his  mind  to  speak  to  her,  and 
about  Nezhdanov  too,  and  that  he  was  silent. 
And  she  was  silent  too. 


233 


XXXVII 

Directly  Solomin  went  out,  Nezhdanov 
jumped  up  from  the  sofa,  walked  twice  from 
one  corner  to  the  other,  then  stood  still  for  a 
minute  in  a  sort  of  petrified  stupefaction  in  the 
middle  of  the  room  ;  suddenly  he  shook  himself, 
hurriedly  flung  off  his  *  masquerading '  get-up, 
kicked  it  into  a  corner,  took  out  and  put  on  his 
own  former  attire.  Then  he  went  up  to  the 
three-legged  table,  took  out  of  the  drawer  two 
sealed  envelopes  and  another  small  article, 
which  he  thrust  into  his  pocket ;  the  envelopes 
he  left  on  the  table.  Then  he  crouched  down 
before  the  stove,  and  opened  the  little  door.  .  .  . 
In  the  stove  lay  a  whole  heap  of  ashes.  This 
was  all  that  was  left  of  Nezhdanov's  manu- 
scripts, of  his  book  of  verse.  .  .  .  He  had  burned 
it  all  during  the  night.  But  there  in  the  stove, 
on  one  side,  sticking  close  against  one  wall,  was 
Marianna's  portrait,  given  him  by  Markelov. 
It  seemed  he  had  not  had  the  heart  to  burn  the 
portrait  too !  Nezhdanov  took  it  carefully  out 
234 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

and  laid  it  on  the  table  beside  the  sealed  envel- 
opes. Then  with  a  resolute  gesture  he  clutched 
his  cap  and  was  making  for  the  door  .  .  .  but 
he  stopped  short,  turned  back,  and  went  into 
Marianna's  room.  There  he  stood  a  minute, 
looked  round  him,  and,  approaching  her  little 
narrow  bed,  bent  down,  and  with  one  stifled 
sob  pressed  his  lips,  not  to  the  pillow,  but  to  the 
foot  of  the  bed.  .  .  .  Then  he  got  up  at  once, 
and,  pulling  his  cap  over  his  eyes,  rushed  out. 

Meeting  no  one,  either  in  the  corridor,  on 
the  stairs,  or  below,  Nezhdanov  slipped  out  into 
the  little  enclosure.  It  was  a  grey  day  with  a 
low-hanging  sky,  and  a  damp  breeze  that  stirred 
the  tops  of  the  grasses  and  set  the  leaves  on  the 
trees  shaking ;  the  factory  made  less  rattle  and 
roar  than  at  the  same  time  on  other  days  ;  from 
its  yard  came  a  smell  of  coal,  tar,  and  tallow. 
Nezhdanov  took  a  sharp,  searching  look  round, 
and  went  straight  up  to  the  old  apple-tree  which 
had  attracted  his  attention  on  the  very  day  of 
his  arrival,  when  he  had  first  looked  out  of  the 
window  of  his  little  room.  The  stem  of  this 
apple-tree  was  overgrown  with  dry  moss ;  its 
rugged,  bare  branches,  with  reddish-green  leaves 
hanging  here  and  there  upon  them,  rose  crooked 
into  the  air,  like  old  bent  arms  raised  in  suppli- 
cation. Nezhdanov  stood  with  Arm  tread  on 
the  dark  earth  about  its  roots,  and  took  out 
235 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

of  his  pocket  the  small  object  that  he  had 
found  in  the  table  drawer.  Then  he  looked 
attentively  at  the  windows  of  the  little  lodge. 
...  *  If  any  one  catches  sight  of  me  this 
minute/  he  thought,  *  then,  perhaps,  I  will  put  it 
off.'  .  .  .  But  nowhere  was  there  a  sign  of  one 
human  face  .  .  .  everything  seemed  dead,  every- 
thing had  turned  away  from  him,  gone  for  ever, 
left  him  to  the  mercy  of  fate.  Only  the  factory 
thickly  roared  and  hummed,  and  overhead  fine 
keen  drops  of  chilly  rain  began  falling. 

Then  Nezhdanov,  glancing  through  the 
crooked  branches  of  the  tree  under  which  he 
was  standing,  at  the  low,  grey,  callously  blind, 
damp  sky,  yawned,  shrugged,  thought, '  There 's 
nothing  else  left — I  'm  not  going  back  to  Peters- 
burg, to  prison,'  flung  away  his  cap,  and  feeling 
already  all  over  a  sort  of  mawkish,  heavy,  over- 
powering languor,  he  put  the  revolver  to  his 
breast,  pulled  the  trigger.  .  .  . 

Something  seemed  to  strike  him  at  once,  not 
very  violently  even  .  .  .  but  he  was  lying  on  his 
back,  trying  to  understand  what  had  happened 
to  him,  and  how  he  had  just  seen  Tatyana.  .  .  . 
He  even  tried  to  call  her,  to  say,  *  Ah,  I  don't 
want  .  .  .'  but  now  he  was  numb  all  over,  and 
there  was  a  whirl  of  muddy  green  turning 
round  and  round  over  his  face,  in  his  eyes,  on 
his  head,  in  the  marrow  of  his  bones — and  a  sort 
236 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

of  terrible  flat  weight  seemed  crushing  him  for 
ever  to  the  earth. 

Nezhdanov  had  really  caught  a  glimpse  of 
Tatyana  at  the  very  minute  when  he  pulled  the 
trigger  of  the  revolver.  She  had  gone  up  to  one 
of  the  windows,  and  had  caught  sight  of  him 
under  the  apple-tree.  She  had  hardly  time  to 
think,  '  Whatever  is  he  doing  in  this  rain  under 
the  apple-tree  without  a  hat  on  ? '  when  he  rolled 
over  on  his  back  like  a  sheaf  of  corn.  She  did 
not  hear  the  shot — the  report  was  very  faint — 
but  she  at  once  saw  something  was  wrong,  and 
rushed  in  hot  haste  down  into  the  garden.  .  .  . 
She  ran  up  to  Nezhdanov.  ...  *  Alexey  Dmi- 
tritch,  what 's  the  matter  ? '  But  already  dark- 
ness had  overtaken  him.  Tatyana  bent  over 
him,  saw  blood. 

*  Pavel ! '  she  cried  in  a  voice  not  her  own — 
*  Pavel!' 

In  a  few  instants,  Marianna,  Solomin,  Pavel, 
and  two  of  the  factory-hands  were  in  the  en- 
closure. They  lifted  Nezhdanov  up  at  once, 
carried  him  into  the  lodge,  and  laid  him  on 
the  very  sofa  on  which  he  had  spent  his  last 
night. 

He  lay  on  his  back  with  half-closed,  fixed 

eyes,  and  face  fast  turning  grey.    He  gave  slow, 

heavy  gasps,  sometimes  with  a  sob,  as  though 

he  were  choking.     Life  had  not  yet  left  him. 

237 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

Marianna  and  Solomin  were  standing  one  on 
each  side  of  the  sofa,  both  almost  as  pale  as 
Nezhdanov  himself.  Shaken,  agitated,  stunned, 
they  were  both — especially  Marianna — but  not 
astounded.  '  How  was  it  we  did  not  foresee 
this  ?  '  they  were  thinking,  and  at  the  same  time 
it  seemed  to  them  that  they  had  .  .  .  yes,  they 
had  foreseen  it.  When  he  had  said  to  Marianna, 
'  Whatever  I  do,  I  tell  you  beforehand,  nothing 
will  come  as  a  surprise  to  you,'  and  again  when 
he  had  talked  of  the  two  men  within  him  who 
could  not  live  together,  had  not  something  stirred 
within  her  akin  to  a  vague  presentiment  ?  Why 
had  she  not  stopped  at  once  and  pondered  on 
those  words,  on  that  presentiment  ?  Why  was 
it  she  did  not  dare  now  to  look  at  Solomin,  as 
though  he  were  her  accomplice  ...  as  though  he 
too  were  feeling  a  sting  of  conscience  ?  Why  was 
it  she  was  feeling,  not  only  boundless,  despairing 
pity  for  Nezhdanov,  but  a  sort  of  horror  and 
dread  and  shame  ?  Could  it  be,  it  had  rested 
with  her  to  save  him  ?  Why  was  it  they  had 
neither  dared  utter  a  word?  Scarcely  dared 
breathe — and  waited  ...  for  what?  Merciful 
God! 

Solomin  sent  for  a  doctor,  though  of  course 

there  was  no  hope.     On  the  small  wound,  now 

black  and  bloodless,  Tatyana  laid  a  large  sponge 

of  cold  water  ;  she  moistened  his  hair  too  with 

238 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

cold  water  and  vinegar.    All  at  once  Nezhdanov 
ceased  gasping  and  strrred  a  little. 

*  He  is  coming  to  himself/  whispered  Solo- 
min. 

Marianna  was  on  her  knees  near  the  sofa.  .  .  . 
Nezhdanov  glanced  at  her  ...  up  till  then  his 
eyes  had  had  the  fixed  look  of  the  dying. 

*  Oh,  I  'm  .  .  .  still  alive/  he  articulated, 
scarcely  audibly.  '  Failed  again  .  .  .  I  'm  keep- 
ing you.' 

*  Alyosha  ! '  moaned  Marianna. 

*Oh,  yes  .  .  .  directly.  .  .  .  You  remember, 
Marianna,  in  my  .  .  .  poem  ..."  With  flowers 
then  deck  me  .  .  ."  where  are  the  flowers  ?  But 
you  're  here  instead.  .  .  .  There,  in  my  letter.  . .  .* 

He  suddenly  shivered  all  over. 

*Ah,  here  she  is.  .  .  .  Give  each  other  .  .  . 
both  .  .  .  your  hands — before  me.  .  .  .  Quick 
.  .  .  take  .  .  .' 

Solomin  grasped  Marianna's  hand.  Her 
head  lay  on  the  sofa,  face  downwards,  close 
to  the  wound. 

Solomin  stood  stern  and  upright,  looking 
dark  as  night. 

'Yes  .  .  .  good  .  .  .  yes  .  .  .* 

Nezhdanov  began  to  sob  again,  but  in  a 
strange,  unusual  way.  .  .  .  His  breast  rose,  his 
sides  heaved.  ... 

He  obviously  was  trying  to  lay  his  hand  on 

23Q 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

their  clasped  hands,  but  his  hands  were  dead 
already. 

*He  is  passing/  murmured  Tatyana,  who 
stood  in  the  doorway,  and  she  began  crossing 
herself. 

The  sobbing  gasps  grew  briefer,  fewer.  .  ,  . 
He  still  sought  Marianna  with  his  eyes  .  .  . 
but  a  sort  of  menacing,  glassy  whiteness  was 
overspreading  them.  .  .  . 

*  Good  .  .  .'  was  his  last  word. 

He  was  no  more  .  .  .  and  the  linked  hands 
of  Solomin  and  Marianna  still  lay  on  his 
breast. 

This  was  what  he  had  written  in  the  two 
short  letters  he  left.  One  was  addressed  to 
Silin,  and  consisted  of  only  a  few  lines : 

'Good-bye,  brother,  friend,  good-bye!  By 
the  time  you  get  this  scrap  of  paper,  I  shall 
be  dead.  Don't  ask  how  and  why,  and  don't 
grieve  ;  believe  that  I  'm  better  off  now.  Take 
our  immortal  Pushkin  and  read  the  description 
of  the  death  of  Lensky  in  Yevgeny  Onyegin, 
Do  you  remember  ? — "  The  windows  are  white- 
washed ;  the  mistress  has  gone.  .  .  ."  That 's 
all.  It 's  no  good  my  talking  to  you  .  .  .  be- 
cause I  should  have  too  much  to  say,  and 
there 's  no  time  to  say  it.  But  I  could  not  go 
away  without  telling  you  ;  or  you  would  have 
thought  of  me  as  living  still,  and  I  should  be 
240 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

wronging    our    friendship.       Good-bye  ;    live. 
Your  friend.— A.  N.' 

The  other  letter  was  somewhat  longer.  It 
was  addressed  to  Solomin  and  Marianna. 
This  was  what  it  contained  :  *  My  children  ! ' 
(Immediately  after  these  words  there  was  a 
break ;  something  had  been  erased,  or  rather 
smudged  over  as  though  tears  had  fallen  on 
it.)  '  You  will  think  it  strange,  perhaps,  that  I 
address  you  in  this  way.  I  am  almost  a  child 
myself,  and  you,  Solomin,  are  older  of  course 
than  I  am.  But  I  am  dying,  and  standing  at 
the  end  of  life  I  regard  myself  as  an  old  man. 
I  am  much  to  blame  to  both  of  you,  especially 
you,  Marianna,  for  causing  you  such  grief  (I 
know,  Marianna,  you  will  grieve)  and  having 
given  you  so  much  anxiety.  But  what  could 
I  do?  I  could  find  no  other  way  out  of  it. 
I  could  not  simplify  myself  \  the  only  thing 
left  was  to  blot  myself  out  altogether.  Mari- 
anna, I  should  have  been  a  burden  to  myself 
and  to  you.  You  are  great-hearted,  you  would 
have  rejoiced  in  the  burden,  as  another  sacri- 
fice .  .  .  but  I  had  no  right  to  take  such  a 
sacrifice  from  you  ;  you  have  better  and  greater 
work  to  do.  My  children,  let  me  unite  you, 
as  it  were,  from  the  grave.  .  .  .  You  will  be 
happy  together.  Marianna,  you  will  infallibly 
VOL  II.  241  Q 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

come  to  love  Solomin  ;  as  for  him  ...  he  has 
loved  you  ever  since  he  first  set  eyes  on  you 
at  the  Sipyagins'.  That  was  no  secret  to  me 
though  we  did  run  away  together  a  few  days 
after.  Ah,  that  morning !  How  glorious  it 
was,  how  sweet  and  young !  It  comes  to  me 
now  as  a  token,  as  a  symbol  of  your  life 
together — yours  and  his — and  I  was  merely 
by  accident  in  his  place  that  day.  But  it 's 
time  to  make  an  end ;  I  don't  want  to  work 
on  your  feelings.  ...  I  only  want  to  justify 
myself  To-morrow  you  will  have  some  very 
sorrowful  moments.  .  .  .  But  there 's  no  help 
for  it !  There  's  no  other  way,  is  there  ?  Good- 
bye, Marianna,  my  good,  true  girl !  Good-bye, 
Solomin !  I  leave  her  in  your  care.  Live 
happily — live  to  the  good  of  others ;  and  you, 
Marianna,  think  of  me  only  when  you  are 
happy.  Think  of  me  as  a  man  who  was  true 
and  good  too,  but  one  for  whom  it  was  some- 
how more  fitting  to  die  than  to  live.  Whether 
I  really  loved  you,  I  don't  know,  my  dear; 
but  I  know  that  I  have  never  felt  a  feeling 
stronger,  and  that  it  would  have  been  more 
terrible  to  me  to  die  without  that  feeling  to 
carry  with  me  to  the  grave. 

*  Marianna !    if  you  ever  meet  a  girl   called 
Mashurina — Solomin  knows  her,  I  fancy — by  the 
way,  you  have  seen  her  too — tell  her  I  thought 
242 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

of  her   with   gratitude    not    long    before   my 
death.  .  .  .  She  will  understand. 

*  But  I  must  tear  myself  away.  I  looked  out 
of  window  just  now ;  among  the  rapidly  moving 
clouds  there  was  one  lovely  star.  However 
rapidly  they  moved,  they  had  not  been  able 
to  hide  it.  That  star  made  me  think  of  you, 
Marianna.  At  this  instant  you  are  sleeping  in 
the  next  room,  and  suspecting  nothing.  .  .  . 
I  went  to  your  door,  listened,  and  I  fancied  I 
caught  your  pure,  calm  breathing.  .  .  .  Good- 
bye, good-bye,  my  dear  !  good-bye,  my  children, 
my  friends  ! — Your  A. 

*Fie!  fie!  How  came  I,  in  a  last  letter 
before  death,  to  say  nothing  of  our  great  cause  .^ 
I  suppose  because  one  can't  tell  lies  on  the 
point  of  death.  .  .  .  Marianna,  forgive  me  this 
postscript.  .  .  .  The  falsehood  's  in  me,  not  in 
what  you  have  faith  in  ! 

*  Oh !  something  more :  you  will  think,  per- 
haps, Marianna,  "  He  was  afraid  of  the  prison 
where  they  would  certainly  have  put  him,  and 
he  thought  of  this  expedient  to  escape  it."  No  ; 
imprisonment 's  nothing  of  any  consequence ; 
but  to  be  in  prison  for  a  cause  you  don't 
believe  in — that 's  really  senseless.  And  I  am 
putting  an  end  to  myself,  not  from  dread  of 
being  in  prison.  Good-bye,  Marianna !  Good- 
bye, my  pure,  spotless  girl !  * 

243 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

Marianna  and  Solomin  read  this  letter  in 
turn.  After  that  she  put  her  portrait  and  the 
two  letters  in  her  pocket,  and  stood  motion- 
less. 

Then  Solomin  said  to  her : 

*  Everything  is  ready,  Marianna ;  let  us  go. 
We  must  carry  out  his  wishes.' 

Marianna  approached  Nezhdanov,  touched 
his  chill  brow  with  her  lips,  and  turning  to 
Solomin  said,  *  Let  us  go.' 

He  took  her  by  the  hand,  and  together  they 
went  out  of  the  room. 

When  a  few  hours  later  the  police  made  a 
descent  on  the  factory,  they  found  of  course 
Nezhdanov — but  a  corpse.  Tatyana  had  laid 
the  body  out  decorously,  put  a  white  pillow 
under  his  head,  crossed  his  arms,  and  even 
put  a  nosegay  of  flowers  on  the  little  table 
beside  him.  Pavel,  who  was  primed  with  all 
needful  instructions,  received  the  police-officers 
with  the  profoundest  obsequiousness  and  a  sort 
of  derision,  so  that  the  latter  hardly  knew 
whether  to  thank  him  or  to  arrest  him  too. 
He  described  circumstantially  how  the  suicide 
had  taken  place,  and  regaled  them  with  Gruyere 
cheese  and  Madeira ;  but  professed  perfect 
ignorance  of  the  whereabouts  at  the  moment 
of  Vassily  Fedotitch  and  the  lady  who  had 
been  staying  there,  and  confined  himself  to 
244 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

assuring  them  that  Vassily  Fedotitch  was  never 
away  long,  on  account  of  his  work  ;  that  he  'd 
be  back  to-day,  or  else  to-morrow,  and  he 
would  then,  without  losing  a  minute,  give 
notice  of  the  fact.  He  was  the  man  for  that 
— accurate ! 

So  the  worthy  police-officers  went  away 
with  nothing,  leaving  a  guard  in  charge  of  the 
body  and  promising  to  send  the  coroner. 


245 


XXXVIII 

Two  days  after  all  these  events,  there  drove 
into  the  courtyard  of  the  'accommodating'  priest 
Zosim  a  little  cart  in  which  sat  a  man  and  a 
woman,  already  well  known  to  the  reader,  and 
the  day  after  their  arrival  they  were  legally 
married.  Soon  afterwards  they  disappeared, 
and  the  worthy  Zosim  never  regretted  what 
he  had  done.  At  the  factory  Solomin  had 
left  a  letter  addressed  to  the  owner  and  de- 
livered to  him  by  Pavel ;  in  it  was  given 
a  full  and  exact  account  of  the  state  of  the 
business  (it  was  doing  splendidly),  and  a  re- 
quest was  made  for  three  months'  leave  of 
absence.  This  letter  had  been  written  two 
days  before  Nezhdanov's  death,  from  which 
it  may  be  concluded  that  Solomin  even  then 
thought  it  necessary  to  go  away  with  him 
and  Marianna  and  keep  out  of  sight  for  a 
time.  Nothing  was  revealed  by  the  inquiry 
held  over  the  suicide.  The  body  was  buried  ; 
Sipyagin  cut  short  all  further  search  for  his 
niece. 

246 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

Nine  months  later  Markelov  was  tried.  At 
the  trial  he  behaved  himself  just  as  he  had 
done  before  the  governor,  with  composure,  a 
certain  dignity,  and  some  weariness.  His 
habitual  sharpness  was  softened,  but  not  by 
cowardice ;  there  was  another,  nobler  feeling 
at  work.  He  made  no  defence,  expressed  no 
regret, blamed  no  one  and  mentioned  no  names; 
his  emaciated  face  with  its  lustreless  eyes  pre- 
served one  expression — submission  to  his  fate, 
and  firmness ;  his  mild  but  direct  and  truthful 
answers  awakened  in  his  very  judges  a  senti- 
ment akin  to  sympathy.  Even  the  peasants  who 
had  seized  him  and  gave  witness  against  him — 
even  they  shared  this  feeling,  and  spoke  of 
him  as  a  *  simple,'  good-hearted  gentleman. 
But  his  guilt  was  too  apparent ;  he  could  not 
possibly  escape  punishment,  and  it  seemed  as 
though  he  himself  accepted  this  punishment 
as  his  due.  Of  his  fellow  -  conspirators,  few 
enough,  Mashurina  kept  out  of  sight ;  Ostro- 
dumov  was  killed  by  a  shopkeeper  whom  he 
was  inciting  to  revolt,  and  who  gave  him  an 
*  awkward'  blow;  Golushkin,  in  consideration  of 
his  *  heartfelt  penitence'  (he  almost  went  out 
of  his  senses  with  alarm  and  agitation),  re- 
ceived a  light  sentence  ;  Kislyakov  was  kept  a 
month  under  arrest  and  then  set  free,  and  even 
allowed  to  *  gallop '  about  the  provinces  un- 
247 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

checked  ;  Nezhdanov  was  set  free  by  death ; 
Solomin,  through  lack  of  evidence,  was  left 
undisturbed  though  under  suspicion.  (He  did 
not,  however,  avoid  trial,  and  made  his  appear- 
ance when  wanted.)  Of  Marianna  nothing  ever 
was  said ;  and  Paklin  completely  evaded  all 
difficulties — indeed,  no  notice  was  taken  of  him 
at  all. 

A  year  and  a  half  had  gone  by,  the  winter 
of  1870  had  come.  In  Petersburg — Petersburg 
where  the  privy  councillor  and  chamberlain 
Sipyagin  was  beginning  to  take  an  important 
position,  where  his  wife  patronised  the  arts, 
gave  musical  evenings,  and  founded  soup- 
kitchens,  and  where  Mr.  Kallomyetsev  was 
regarded  as  one  of  the  most  promising  secre- 
taries of  his  department — along  one  of  the 
streets  of  Vassily  Ostrov  walked,  hobbling  and 
limping,  a  little  man  in  a  shabby  overcoat 
with  a  catskin  collar.  It  was  Paklin.  He  had 
changed  a  good  deal  of  late ;  a  few  silver 
threads  could  be  seen  among  the  long  tufts 
of  hair  that  stuck  out  below  his  fur  cap. 
There  chanced  to  be  coming  towards  him 
along  the  pavement  a  rather  stout,  tall  lady, 
closely  muffled  in  a  thick  cloth  cloak.  Paklin 
cast  an  indifferent  glance  in  her  direction, 
passed  her  by  .  .  .  then  suddenly  stood  still, 
thought  a  minute,  flung  up  his  arms,  and 
248 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

quickly  turning  and  overtaking  her,  he  looked 
up  under  her  hat  at  her  face. 

*  Mashurina  ?  '  he  said  in  a  low  voice. 

The  lady  scanned  him  majestically,  and 
without  uttering  a  word  walked  on. 

'Dear  Mashurina,  I  recognise  you,'  Paklin 
went  on,  hobbling  along  beside  her,  '  only  don't 
you,  please,  be  afraid.  I  wouldn't  betray  you, 
I  am  too  delighted  to  have  met  you !  I  'm 
Paklin,  Sila  Paklin,  you  know,  Nezhdanov's 
friend.  .  .  .  Come  and  see  me ;  I  live  only  a 
step  or  two  away.     Please  do  ! ' 

*/<9  sono  contessa  Rocca  di  Santo  Fiume!^ 
the  lady  answered  in  a  low  voice,  but  in  a 
wonderfully  pure  Russian  accent. 

*  Come,  nonsense  !  .  .  .  a  fine  contessa !  .  .  . 
Come  and  see  me.     Let  us  have  a  chat.  .  .  .* 

*  But  where  do  you  live  ? '  the  Italian  countess 
asked  suddenly  in  Russian.  '  I  've  no  time  to 
lose.' 

*  I  live  here,  in  this  street — that 's  my  house, 
the  grey  one  there,  with  three  stories.  How 
kind  it  is  of  you  not  to  persist  in  trying  to 
mystify  me !  Give  me  your  hand,  come  along. 
Have  you  been  here  long  ?  And  how  are  you 
a  countess?  Have  you  married  some  Italian 
count?' 

Mashurina  had  not  married  an  Italian  count. 
She  had  been  provided  with  a  passport  made 
249 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

out  in  the  name  of  a  certain  Countess  Rocca  di 
Santo  Fiume,  who  had  died  not  long  before, 
and  with  this  she  had  with  the  utmost  com- 
posure returned  to  Russia,  though  she  did  not 
know  a  word  of  Italian  and  had  the  most 
Russian  of  faces. 

Paklin  conducted  her  to  his  humble  lodgings. 
The  hunchbacked  sister  with  whom  he  was 
living  came  to  meet  the  visitor  from  behind 
the  screen  that  separated  the  tiny  kitchen  from 
the  equally  tiny  passage. 

'  Here,  Snapotchka,'  he  said,  *  I  commend  to 
you  a  great  friend  of  mine ;  give  us  some  tea 
as  quick  as  you  can/ 

Mashurina,  who  would  not  have  gone  to 
Paklin's  if  he  had  not  mentioned  Nezhdanov's 
name,  took  off  her  hat,  and,  passing  her  mascu- 
line hand  over  her  still  cropped  hair,  bowed 
and  sat  down  in  silence.  She  was  altogether 
unchanged,  she  was  even  wearing  the  very  same 
dress  that  she  had  worn  two  years  before  ;  but 
in  her  eyes  there  was  a  sort  of  immovable 
grief,  which  added  something  touching  to  the 
habitually  stern  expression  of  her  face. 

Snanduliya  went  for  the  samovar,  while  Pak- 
lin placed  himself  opposite  Mashurina,  lightly 
patted  her  on  the  knee,  and  hung  down  his 
head ;  but  when  he  tried  to  speak,  he  was 
obliged  to  clear  his  throat;  his  voice  broke 
250 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

and  tears  glistened  in  his  eyes.  Mashurina  sat 
stiff  and  motionless,  without  leaning  back,  in 
her  chair,  and  looked  morosely  away. 

'  Yes,  yes,*  began  Paklin,  '  those  were  times ! 
Looking  at  you,  I  remember  .  .  .  many  things, 
and  many  people,  dead  and  living ;  my  poll 
parrots  too  are  dead  .  .  .  but  you  didn't  know 
them,  I  fancy ;  and  both  on  the  same  day,  as  I 
foretold.  Nezhdanov  .  .  .  poor  Nezhdanov! 
,  .  .  you  know,  of  course  .  .  .  ? ' 

*Yes,  I  know,'  said  Mashurina,  still  looking 
away. 

*  And  do  you  know  about  Ostrodumov,  too  ? ' 
Mashurina  merely  nodded.  She  wanted  him 
to  go  on  talking  of  Nezhdanov,  but  she  could 
not  bring  herself  to  ask  him  about  him.  He 
understood  her  without  that. 

*  I  was  told  that  in  the  letter  he  left  he 
mentioned  you — was  that  true  ? ' 

Mashurina  could  not  answer  at  once. 

*  It  is  true,'  she  brought  out  at  last. 

*  He  was  a  marvellous  fellow !  Only,  he  got 
out  of  his  right  track !  He  was  about  as  good 
a  revolutionist  as  I  was.  Do  you  know  what 
he  really  was  ?  The  idealist  of  realism  !  Do 
you  understand  me?' 

Mashurina  flung  a  rapid   glance  at   Paklin. 
She  did  not  understand,  and  indeed  she  did 
not  care  to  take  the  trouble  to  understand  him. 
251 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

It  struck  her  as  strange  and  unsuitable  that  he 
should  dare  to  compare  himself  with  Nezh- 
danov ;  but  she  thought,  '  Let  him  brag  now.* 
(Though  he  was  not  bragging  at  all,  but  rather, 
to  his  own  ideas,  humbling  himself.) 

*A  fellow  called  Silin  found  me  out  here/ 
Paklin  continued.  *  Nezhdanov  had  written  to 
him  too  just  before  his  death.  And  he,  this 
Silin,  was  inquiring  whether  one  couldn't  get 
hold  of  any  of  his  papers.  But  Alyosha's 
things  had  been  put  under  seal  .  .  .  and  be- 
sides, there  were  no  papers  among  them ;  he 
burned  everything,  he  burned  his  poems  too. 
You  didn't  know  perhaps  that  he  wrote  poetry? 
I  am  so  sorry  about  them  ;  I  am  sure  some  of 
them  must  have  been  very  good.  All  that 
has  vanished  with  him,  all  lost  in  the  common 
vortex,  and  dead  for  ever  !  Nothing  's  left  but 
the  memories  of  his  friends  till  they  pass  away 
in  their  turn  ! ' 

Paklin  paused. 

*  The  Sipyagins,'  he  went  on  again  :  *  do  you 
remember  those  condescending,  dignified,  loath- 
some swells  ?  They  're  at  the  tip-top  of  power 
and  glory  by  now ! ' 

Mashurina  did  not  'remember'  the  Sipyagins 

in   the   least ;    but    Paklin   hated    them    both, 

especially  Mr.  Sipyagin,  to  such  a  degree  that 

he  could   not   deny   himself   the   pleasure   of 

252 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

'pulling  them  to  pieces.'  'They  say  there's 
such  a  high  tone  in  their  house !  they  're  always 
talking  about  virtue  !  But  I  've  observed, 
whenever  there  's  too  much  talk  about  virtue, 
it's  for  all  the  world  like  too  much  smell  of 
scent  in  a  sickroom;  you  may  be  sure  there's 
some  hidden  nastiness  to  conceal !  It 's  a  sus- 
picious sign  !  Poor  Alexey !  they  were  the  ruin 
of  him,  those  Sipyagins  ! ' 

'  How 's  Solomin  doing  ? '  asked  Mashurina. 
She  had  suddenly  ceased  to  feel  any  inclination 
to  hear  anything  about  him  from  this  man. 

*  Solomin  ! '  cried  Paklin.  '  That 's  a  first-rate 
fellow.  He  has  got  on  splendidly.  He  threw  up 
his  old  factory  and  carried  off  the  best  workmen 
with  him.  There  was  one  chap  there  ...  a 
regular  firebrand,  they  say!  Pavel  was  his 
name  ...  he  took  him  along  with  him.  Now 
they  say  he  has  a  factory  of  his  own,  a  small 
one,  somewhere  out  Perm  way,  on  co-operative 
principles.  He 's  a  man  that  '11  stick  to  what 
he 's  about !  He  '11  carry  anything  through ! 
He's  a  sharp  fellow,  ay,  and  a  strong  one 
too.  He 's  first-rate !  And  the  great  thing 
is:  he's  not  trying  to  cure  all  the  social  dis- 
eases all  in  a  minute.  For  we  Russians  are 
a  queer  lot,  you  know,  we  expect  everything ; 
some  one  or  something  is  to  come  along  one 
day  and  cure  us  all  at  once,  heal  all  our 
253 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

wounds,  extract  all  our  diseases  like  an  aching 
tooth  Who  or  what  this  panacea  is  to  be — why, 
Darwinism,  the  village  commune,  Arhip  Pere- 
pentyev,  a  foreign  war,  anything  you  please ! 
Only,  we  must  have  our  teeth  pulled  out  for  us  ! 
It's  all  sluggishness,  apathy,  shallow  thinking! 
But  Solomin 's  not  like  that — no,  he's  not  a 
quack  doctor,  he 's  first-rate  ! ' 

Mashurina  waved  her  hand  as  though  she 
would  say,  '  He  may  be  dismissed,  then.' 

'  Well,  and  that  girl,'  she  inquired — *  I  've  for- 
gotten her  name — who  ran  away  with  him,  with 
Nezhdanov  ? ' 

*  Marianna  ?  Oh,  she 's  that  same  Solomin's 
wife  now.  It 's  more  than  a  year  since  she  was 
married  to  him.  At  first  it  was  only  formal, 
but  now  they  say  she  really  is  his  wife.  Yes, 
yes.' 

Marianna  waved  her  hand  again.  Once  she 
had  been  jealous  of  Marianna  for  Nezhdanov's 
sake ;  now  she  felt  indignant  with  her  for 
being  capable  of  infidelity  to  his  memory. 
*  I  dare  say  there 's  a  baby  by  now,'  she  com- 
mented contemptuously. 

*  Very  likely,  I  don't  know.  But  where  are 
you  off  to?'  Paklin  added,  seeing  that  she  was 
taking  up  her  hat.  '  Stay  a  little,  Snapotchka 
will  give  us  some  tea  directly.'  It  was  not  so 
much  that  he  wanted  to  keep  Mashurina  par- 

254 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

ticularly,  as  that  he  could  not  let  slip  an  oppor- 
tunity of  giving  utterance  to  all  that  had 
accumulated  and  was  seething  in  his  breast. 
Since  Paklin  had  returned  to  Petersburg,  he 
had  seen  very  few  people,  especially  of  the 
younger  generation.  The  Nezhdanov  affair 
had  scared  him  ;  he  had  grown  very  cautious 
and  avoided  society,  and  the  younger  men  on 
their  side  looked  very  suspiciously  upon  him. 
One  young  man  had  even  abused  him  to  his 
face  as  an  informer.  With  the  elder  generation 
he  did  not  much  care  himself  to  consort;  so 
that  it  had  sometimes  been  his  lot  to  be  silent 
for  weeks  together.  He  did  not  speak  out 
freely  before  his  sister — not  that  he  supposed 
her  to  be  incapable  of  understanding  him,  oh 
no !  He  had  the  highest  opinion  of  her  intel- 
lect. .  .  .  But  with  her  he  would  have  had  to 
talk  seriously  and  perfectly  truthfully  ;  directly 
he  fell  into  'playing  trumps,' as  they  say,  she 
would  begin  gazing  at  him  with  a  peculiar 
intent  and  compassionate  look ;  and  he  was 
ashamed.  And  how  is  a  man  to  get  on  with- 
out a  little  'trumping,'  just  a  low  'trump' 
occasionally !  And  so  life  in  Petersburg  had 
begun  to  be  a  weariness  of  the  flesh  to  Paklin, 
and  he  even  thought  about  moving  elsewhere, 
to  Moscow  perhaps.  Reflections  of  all  sorts, 
speculations,  fancies,  epigrams,  and  sarcasms, 
255 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

were  stored  up  within  him,  like  water  in  a  closed 
mill.  .  .  .  The  floodgates  could  not  be  raised  ; 
the  water  had  grown  stagnant  and  stale. 
Mashurina  had  turned  up  ...  so  he  lifted  the 
floodgates  and  talked  and  talked.  .  .  .  He  fell 
upon  Petersburg,  Petersburg  life,  and  all  Russia. 
No  one  and  nothing  was  spared.  Mashurina 
took  a  very  limited  interest  in  all  this,  but  she 
did  not  contradict  or  interrupt  him  .  ,  .  and 
that  was  all  he  wanted. 

*  Yes,  indeed,'  he  said,  *  these  are  nice  little 
times,  I  can  assure  you  !  In  society  the  stag- 
nation 's  absolute  ;  every  one  bored  to  perdition  ! 
In  literature  a  vacuum  clean  swept !  In  criti- 
cism .  .  .  if  an  advanced  young  reviewer  has  to 
say  that  "  it 's  characteristic  of  the  hen  to  lay 
eggs,"  it  takes  him  twenty  whole  pages  to  ex- 
pound this  mighty  truth, and  even  then  he  doesn't 
quite  manage  it !  They  're  as  soft,  these  fellows, 
let  me  tell  you,  as  feather-beds,  as  greasy  as 
cold  stew,  and  foaming  at  the  mouth  they  utter 
commonplaces  !  In  science  .  .  .  ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! 
we  've  a  renowned  Kant  of  our  own  indeed,  if  it 's 
only  the  Kanf  {i.e.  braiding)  'on  our  engineers' 
collars!  In  art  it's  just  the  same!  If  you 
care  to  go  to  the  concert  to-day,  you  will  hear 
the  national  singer  Agremantsky.  .  .  .  He  is 
having  an  immense  success.  .  .  .  And  if  a  stuffed 
bream,  a  stuffed  bream,  I  tell  you,  were  possessed 
256 


VIRGIN    SOIL 

of  a  voice,  it  would  sing  precisely  like  that 
worthy  !  And  Skoropihin  even — you  know  our 
time-honoured  Aristarchus — praises  him  !  It 's 
something,  he  declares,  quite  unlike  Western 
art !  He  praises  our  miserable  painters  too  ! 
He  used  once  to  rave,  he  says,  over  Europe,  over 
the  Italians  ;  but  he  has  heard  Rossini  and 
thought:  "  Pooh,  pooh!"  he  has  seen  Raphael — 
"Pooh,  pooh ! "  And  that  " pooh "  is  quite  enough 
for  our  young  men  ;  they  repeat  "  pooh  "  after 
Skoropihin,  and  they  're  contented  if  you  please! 
And  meanwhile  the  people's  poverty  is  fearful, 
they  are  utterly  crushed  by  taxes,  and  the  only 
reform  that's  been  accomplished  is  that  all 
peasants  have  taken  to  caps  while  their  wives 
have  given  up  coifs.  .  .  .  And  the  famine! 
The  drunkenness  !     The  usurers  !' 

But  at  this  point  Mashurina  yawned,  and 
Paklin  saw  he  must  change  the  subject. 

*  You  have  not  yet  told  me,'  he  said  to  her, 
*  where  you  have  been  these  two  years,  and 
whether  you  have  been  here  long,  and  what 
you  have  been  doing  and  how  you  came  to 
be  transformed  into  an  Italian,  and  why ' 

*  There 's  no  need  for  you  to  know  all  that,' 
Mashurina  interrupted  ;  *  what 's  the  use  ? 
That's  not  in  your  line  now.' 

Paklin  felt  a  pang,  and  to  hide  his  confusion 
he  laughed  a  short,  forced  little  laugh. 
VOL  II.  257  R 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

*  Well,  that 's  as  you  please/  he  rejoined.  *  I 
know  I  'm  regarded  as  out-of-date  by  the  pie- 
sent  generation  ;  and  to  be  sure,  I  can't  reckon 
myself .  .  .  among  the  ranks  of  those  who  .  .  .* 
He  did  not  complete  his  sentence.  *  Here  is 
Snapotchka  bringing  us  some  tea.  You  must 
take  a  cup,  and  listen  to  me.  .  .  .  Perhaps  in 
my  words  you  may  find  something  of  interest 
to  you.' 

Mashurina  took  a  cup  and  a  small  lump  of 
sugar,  and  began  to  sip  the  tea  and  nibble  at 
the  sugar. 

Paklin's  laugh  was  genuine  this  time. 

'  It 's  as  well  there  are  no  police  here,  or  the 
Italian  Countess  .  .  .  what  is  it?' 

*  Rocca  di  Santo  Fiume,'  said  Mashurina, 
with  imperturbable  gravity,  as  she  imbibed  the 
scalding  liquid. 

*  Rocca  di  Santo  Fiume ! '  repeated  Paklin, 
*  and  she  sips  her  tea  through  the  sugar!  That's 
too  unlikely !  The  police  would  be  on  the  alert 
in  a  minute.' 

*  Yes,'  observed  Mashurina,  '  a  fellow  in  uni- 
form bothered  me  abroad ;  he  kept  asking  me 
questions  ;  I  couldn't  stand  it  at  last.  "  Let  me 
alone,  do,  for  mercy's  sake ! "  I  said.' 

*  Did  you  say  that  in  Italian  ? ' 

*  No,  in  Russian.' 

*  And  what  did  he  do  ? ' 

258 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

*  He  ?     Why,  walked  off,  to  be  sure/ 

*  Bravo ! '  cried  Paklin.  '  Hurrah  for  the 
Contessa!  Another  cup,  do!  Well,  what  I 
wanted  to  say  to  you  was,  you  spoke  rather 
coolly  of  Solomin.  But  do  you  know  what  I 
can  assure  you?  Fellows  like  him — they  are 
the  real  men.  One  doesn't  understand  them  at 
first,  but  they  're  the  real  men,  take  my  word 
for  it ;  and  the  future 's  in  their  hands.  They're 
not  heroes ;  not  even  "  the  heroes  of  labour," 
about  whom  some  queer  fish — an  American  or 
an  Englishman — wrote  a  book  for  the  edification 
of  us  poor  wretches  ;  they  're  sturdy,  rough,  dull 
men  of  the  people.  But  they  're  what 's  wanted 
now !  Just  look  at  Solomin  ;  his  brain 's  clear 
as  daylight,  and  he  's  as  healthy  as  a  fish.  .  .  . 
Isn't  that  a  wonder !  Why,  hitherto  with  us  in 
Russia  it 's  always  been  the  way  that  if  you  're  a 
live  man  with  feelings  and  a  conscience,  you  're 
bound  to  be  an  invalid !  But  Solomin's  heart, 
I  dare  say,  aches  at  what  makes  ours  ache,  and 
he  hates  what  we  hate — but  his  nerves  are  calm, 
and  his  whole  body  responds  as  it  ought  .  .  . 
so  that  he 's  a  splendid  fellow !  Yes,  indeed, 
a  man  with  an  ideal,  and  no  nonsense  about 
him ;  educated — and  from  the  people  ;  simple — 
and  a  little  shrewd.  .  .  .  What  more  do  you 
want  .  .  .  ? 

*  And  never  you  mind,'  pursued  Paklin,  work- 

259 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

ing  himself  up  more  and  more,  and  not  noticing 
that  Mashurina  had  long  ceased  to  attend,  and 
was  once  more  gazing  away  into  the  distance ; 
'  never  mind  if  there  are  swarms  of  all  sorts  in 
Russia :  Slavophils  and  officials  and  generals, 
plain  and  decorated,  and  Epicureans  and  imita- 
tors and  queer  fish  of  all  sorts.  (I  used  to 
know  a  lady  called  Havronya  Prishtehov,  who 
suddenly  without  rhyme  or  reason  turned  legiti- 
mist, and  assured  every  one  that  when  she  died 
they  need  only  open  her  body  and  they  would 
find  the  name  of  Henri  V.  engraved  in  her 
heart  ...  on  the  heart  of  Havronya  Prishtehov!) 
Never  mind  all  that,  my  dear  madam,  but  let 
me  tell  you  our  only  true  way  lies  with  the 
Solomins,  coarse,  plain,  shrewd  Solomins  !  Re- 
collect when  I  am  saying  this  to  you,  in  the 
winter  of  1870,  when  Germany  is  making  ready 
to  crush  France — when ' 

'  Silushka,'  Snanduliya's  soft  little  voice  was 
heard  saying  behind  Paklin's  back,  '  I  think  in 
your  speculations  on  the  future  you  forget  our 
religion  and  its  influence.  .  .  .  And  besides,' 
she  added  hurriedly,  *  Madame  Mashurina  is 
not  listening  to  you.  .  .  .  You  had  better  offer 
her  another  cup  of  tea.' 

Paklin  pulled  himself  together. 

'  Ah,  yes,  dear  lady — won't  you  really  ? ' 

But  Mashurina  stared,  turned  her  gloomy 
260 


^^%^-г2^ 


VIRGIN   SOIL 

eyes  upon  him,  and  said  absently,  *  I  wanted 
to  ask  you,  Paklin,  haven't  you  any  notes  of 
Nezhdanov's  or  his  photograph  ? ' 

*  I  have  a  photograph  .  .  .  yes  ;  and  I  fancy 
rather  a  good  one,  in  the  table.  I  '11  find  it  for 
you  directly.' 

He  began  rummaging  in  the  drawer,  while 
Snanduliya  went  up  to  Mashurina,  and  with  a 
long,  intent  look  of  sympathy  she  clasped  her 
hand  like  a  comrade. 

*  Here  it  is  !  I  have  found  it ! '  cried  Paklin, 
and  he  gave  her  the  photograph.  Mashurina, 
with  hardly  a  glance  at  it,  and  without  a  word 
of  thanks,  crimsoning  all  over,  thrust  it  quickly 
into  her  pocket,  put  on  her  hat,  and  was  making 
for  the  door. 

*  Are  you  going  ? '  said  Paklin.  *  Tell  us,  at 
least,  where  you  live  ? ' 

'  As  it  happens/ 

*  I  understand,  you  don't  wish  me  to  know, 
then  !  Well,  tell  me,  please,  one  thing  any  way: 
are  you  still  working  under  the  orders  of  Vassily 
Nikolaevitch  ? ' 

'What  is  that  to  you?' 

*  Or  perhaps  of  some  other — Sidor  Sidor- 
itch  ? ' 

Mashurina  made  no  answer. 

*  Or  does  some  one  anonymous  direct  you  ? ' 
Mashurina  was  already  across  the  threshold 

261 


VIRGIN  SOIL 

*  Perhaps  it  is  some  one  anonymous!' 
She  slammed  the  door  behind  her. 
A  long  while  Paklin  remained  standing  before 
this  closed  door. 
^  Anonymous  Russia!'  he  said  at  last. 


THE  END 


Printed  by  Т.  and  A.  Constable,  Printers  to  His  Majesty 
at  the  Edinburgh  University  Press 


a 


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